


The Stars Will Guide Me Home

by BruisedBloodyBroken



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Close to Dying, Hunter Sam, Hurt Sam, M/M, Other, Sad Story, Sam Harvelle - Freeform, Tissue Warning, Triggering content ahead, featuring castiel, possessive demonic dean, samuel harvelle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:01:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 90,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29138961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BruisedBloodyBroken/pseuds/BruisedBloodyBroken
Summary: UNRELATED!WINCEST, requested!story, 30!sick!hunter!sam, 34!possessive!demonic!being!dean, mentions!of!torture&rape, triggering!content, featuring!Castiel. Samuel Harvelle has nightmares and due the task to stop them, he needs to find Alistair. Things do not go as planned and soon he finds himself at the mercy of another black-eyed being named Dean Winchester.I don't do deathfics - just saying.
Relationships: Sam/Dean
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this story was copied & pasted from FANFICTIONdotCOM.

**Chapter 1: CHAPTER I**

* * *

Author's Note:

Welcome to " _The Stars Will Guide Me Home_ ", written by ME. The prompt & parts of the plot came from PythonSnake55, beta'd by GOTHPANDAOTAKU

 **The prompt was to write this:** _Just wondering if you ever thought of doing a story kinda like Fall of Darkness except Sam the hunter finds Dean the demon who's weak yet still aggressive, Sam takes him to his safe house to interrogate him, once he regains his strength Dean, who is attracted to Sam breaks free and hunts Sam and then asserts his dominance over Sam, almost kinda like in season 10 of Supernatural?_

We then discussed for a while, and the outcome was: demon!dean, hunter!sam. Sam's on the hunt for a special demon, someone close to lucifer (who's still in the cage). He tracks down a demon nest and finds a caged Dean Winchester. Lucky him, the demon's weak and hurt ... Sam takes him to his safe house to interrogate him. Then ... Dean escapes ...

 **WARNINGS:** unrelated!wincest, Dean!34, Sam!30, slight dub!con, mentions and high likely graphic description of rape & attempted rape, graphic adult content (sex) ahead, bottom!sam, top!dean. This story happens to be VERY VERY DARK at the beginning. Though, I can see a light at the end of the tunnel – and it's not hellfire, folks.

Oh ... and there's quite some hurt Sam Harvelle in this story – and I mixed some disease into it to spice things up a bit ...

* * *

**Onto the story:**

_~*DW & SW*~_

_ The Stars Will Guide Me Home _

**CHAPTER I**

_Sam squirmed in his bindings, where he lay strapped down on an examination table – a special examination table. He was naked and covered in blood, the cool metal beneath him easing some of the aches and pains, though the hard surface did nothing for his back. Whenever he shifted, he felt the slick fluid – blood and other liquids he didn't want to think about – smear over the metal and his skin._

_He felt too weak to even try to escape anymore. Hell, when that bastard had first got the drop on him, he had wished he'd killed him right there. But nope. As all demons, this one wasn't any different. Killing Samuel Harvelle would've been too easy – too fast. Too_ **painless** _. There'd be no fear, no terror – nothing he could wallow in ..._

_It wasn't the pain, that caused his tears to stream down his face mercilessly until he was drained and just sobs and whimpers were left. It wasn't the torture, which made him cry his hunter's-heart out. Sure, each cut and punch hurt like hell and he wished he'd die, well knowing that the demon_ _wouldn't let him – not now, maybe not for quite some time._

_What made him shiver and tremble each time the door to this shithole of a dungeon opened, was, that Alistair was going to do something far worse to him._

_Like now._

_Sam couldn't stop the agonized cry, which ripped from his throat, as the demon let the iron shackles snap open, taking torn skin with them. Without a word, nor giving Sam time, he wrapped his fingers up in the hunter's hair and pulled him up and off the table, shoving him face first into a wall._

_Before Sam could make out what was about to happen, he found himself cuffed against a brickwall, with his feet and hands extended, making him look like a perfect human X._

_The hunter knew what would come next. It was inevitable. Alistair wouldn't show mercy, no matter how bad he'd beg him to end this ..._

_"You scream so pretty for me, hunter.", the man purred into his ear. "I'll make you beg. Make you TAKE it. You hear me? - And when I'm done with you, boy." He chuckled. "I'm gonna throw you out on the side of the road. Let those animals take care of you. - Nothing but road-kill, hunter."_

_Suddenly there was pain. Hot, white, searing pain, lancing from his bottom straight up his spine ..._

Sam's eyes snapped open, an agonizing scream dying on his lips.

He was panting.

His clothes damp with sweat.

Salty sweat mingled with sour tears.

He stared at the wooden panels on the ceiling and swallowed a sob. It was the same ... every damn night. He knew it wouldn't end. Not until he was dead. Until ALISTAIR was dead.

At least that bastard in the basement would volunteer information. He would know where Alistair was ... where he'd be. A demon, who called himself Dean Winchester. Man, this poor bastard he was possessing. Sure, Dean Winchester was,what his driver's licence said, a mechanic from some noname-town somewhere in Kansas. Not that it really mattered. Nor that he was thirty-four and had his whole life in front of him ... At least it didn't look like anyone would miss him, a giant plus for Sam.

The Dean Winchester they knew was dead – or would be in the end – anyway. Not after the injuries Sam had inflicted on the demon's vessel these past few days.

Though, Sam knew – whatever this lying bastard was trying to make him believe – it was fake. All of them were the same. He hadn't met one of those creatures, who weren't lying, abusive, fear-loving bastards. And this DEAN sure wasn't any different.

So why should he feel sorry for hurting something like him?

This was about revenge. - About bloody, torturous revenge for what had been done to him.

He'd find Alistair, and he'd make him pay. He'd make the nightmares, the bastard planted into his mind, stop.

Sam still couldn't forget Alistair's words, before he pushed him out of the white SUV to leave him behind at the side of the road – just as he had promised:

_I've something better for you than ending up as roadkill. I'm going to make you regret each day of your future life. I'm going to come for you. In your dreams. In your head. I'm going to do things to you, Sammy-boy. Things you can't imagine ... I'm going to make you take your gun and blow a hole in your skull, hunter._

This had to end. He couldn't go on like this anymore. Either he'd find this bastard and kill him, or he'd truly put a gun to his head and pull the trigger.

No alcohol, nor any medication would help free him from that bastard. Not ever. The only thing sleeping pills would do was hinder him upon waking up ... he'd be caught in his dreams for way too long without any chance to snap out of it or at least wake up afterwards.

And he'd remember every single detail then. EVERYTHING ...

Nowadays he found himself blacking out more often during the days too. He was inattentive during hunts and that had nearly cost his life a couple of times by now. Well, not just his life. If it was only about dying, fine. He could handle THAT. But the fact that some werewolf or fang could turn him into a monster? No thanks. That wasn't how he wanted to end up.

Now that Sam was wide awake, he didn't think about getting back to sleep anytime soon. A couple of hours every couple of days had to be enough. He could sleep later on – when everything was done.

_~*DW & SW*~_

Sam stood before the mirror in the bathroom and stared at himself. He looked like shit. Cheeks hollowed out, dark circles under his eyes and a bit pale. Well, nothing a hot shower and a cup of coffee wouldn't change anyway.

With a heavy sigh, he opened the small cabinet and took one of the four pill-bottles out, eying the prescription patch intently for a very long moment. Actually, he could stop all of this by just not taking his medication. He could go into the bedroom, tug himself into layers of blankets and could try to relax. Since it didn't really hurt, it wouldn't even be really painful either ... It would just sting a bit, he'd start to shake, his breathing would turn erratic until his lungs wouldn't take it anymore.

Hell, he had TRIED. - Actually he had tried to do it a couple of times so far. But he never had the balls to pull through. Who would want to suffocate slowly? It could take minutes ... even an hour or two ... who knew?

A bullet to the head was faster though and without the chance of going back ... Then again: Dying wasn't what he actually wanted. At least not yet. He still had enough strength and will to fight it.

Sam dropped one of the small pills into his right palm and swallowed it dry. Gladly he just needed them when he started to feel weird ... like right the fuck now (Not that this was what the doctors had said to him. Actually they had no clue what was going on and couldn't even put a name on whatever sickness he had – but the pills obviously worked and Samuel Harvelle was grateful about THAT.)

The tightness in his chest, the dizziness, the tingling pain ... It would all be gone again in about fifteen minutes.

When he was done in the bathroom, he headed downstairs and into the kitchen and made himself a pot full of instant-coffee. Black with sugar, since there wasn't any milk left.

This was quite a big house though. It had a second floor with bedrooms and a bathroom. In the first one was the kitchen, a storage, living room and the door into the basement.

Sam eyed the contents of the fridge warily. Two bottles of beer, three slices of bread and a lonely egg ... well, there was still peanut butter and jelly somewhere in the cupboards.

Hadn't he gone out for groceries just yesterday? ... _Nope_. Yesterday he spent the whole day in the basement. And the day before? ... When was the last time hee had something to eat anyway? He could vaguely remember dropping by a dinner before he settled down in a motel to prepare himself for going into the nest.

... _Four days_... Sam huffed out a breath. It's been four days since the last time he ate. He NEEDED to get out and pick up groceries or mother nature would do its work on its own. - After he paid a short visit to the basement at least ...

Eating the three slices of old, dry bread with the single scrambled egg and mustard wasn't a good idea after all. His stomach screamed for more – though there was nothing. The peanut butter was empty, so was the jelly.

Sam hurried up to get dressed in a fresh pair of jeans – the only one left and picked a shirt that didn't smell as bad as the rest.

 _Seemed like he hadn't done laundry either .._.

He ran a palm over his face and shook his head.

Sam grabbed the demon-killing-knife from the kitchen counter and stuck it in between his belt and jeans. Bracing himself, he went through the door of the basement and down the stairs.

_~*DW & SW*~_

The demon seemed wide awake, glaring at him as he watched him coming down the stairs.

From one prison into another one. The hunter just didn't know what he had gotten himself into. Snatching him from those bastards. Taking him here – on a damn freaking hard loadbed of some rusty old pick up without a blanket or something. The hunter was at least as much of a monster as he was ...

He would've laughed his ass off two weeks ago, if someone would've told him that a hand full of black-eyed bitches were going to get the drop on him and that a hunter would get him out of there to torture some information out of him.

Shit, he'd laugh his ass off right now, if it wasn't for the gravity of his situation.

That man truly held his life in hands – at least for now. He couldn't deny, that he was going to punch the living shit out of this guy as soon as he got free. - Which actually was just a matter of hours, since his strength was nearly back to hundred percent.

There was no way in hell a damn human was going to hold him captive like this – slicing him up and yelling at him, THREATENING him.

He wasn't the bad guy here. Well, maybe he was. He had done some pretty bad things and was about to do some in the near future too – like ripping that hunter's throat out and let him choke on his own blood.

Yeah, that sounded good. Real good. So good, that a dangerous grin formed on his lips, when he took in the lousy appearance of the hunter as he stood before him.

All tall and broad shoulders. Though, Dean could tell that the man wasn't sleeping a lot – maybe even not eating properly ... he'd be an easy game.

Sam wanted nothing more than to wipe the grin from the bastard's face. Though he managed to keep his composure like a pro. There was no way he'd give the demon satisfaction in any way.

"Looks like you don't sleep well, Sasquatch," Dean said – his voice rough and gravely. "I could help you with that." A sly grin formed on the man's lips.

Sam kept his stare casual. "I'll pass."

Dean chuckled and sniffed as he shook his head. "You look like shit, boy."

"You didn't look any better when I left you last night." Now it was Sam's turn to grin. It was true. Dean had been beaten to hell. His face swollen, his body hurting. And now, there was nothing left but dried blood. Not a single bruise, nor a cut was visible on his freckled face.

"Touchè." The demon leaned back a bit and shifted, twisting his wrists in the ropes, securing his arms on the back of the chair. "Otherwise you're feeling good? I mean ... no tingly feeling in your gut? No headache?"

Rather confused, Sam stared at him for a moment longer, before he walked over to the table on the far side of the room.

"Now I'm disappointed. - Thought you'd use this sweet knife of yours again?" Dean nodded towards Sam.

"I don't think I'll need it this soon," he gave back mumbling, while he eyed the hammer for a long moment.

Nope. He wasn't up for this shit today. The demon wasn't going anywhere. And he was exhausted and starving. Besides ... the bastard's taunting wasn't something he could take today without regretting it afterwards.

He might even stab him with his knife and then he'd have to track down another one. And Sam wasn't sure if he'd have the strength to do so ... not anymore.

Dean pursed his lips, as he took in the hunter's profile. The man seemed less enthusiastic than yesterday night. He even seemed pensive ... and kind of _hurt_. For a short moment, the demon thought to feel sorry for the guy. The hunter looked like someone had killed his puppy ...

Nope, this wasn't going to happen. No one tortured Dean Winchester and got away with it.

After another long minute, Sam turned back around towards the stairs and went back upstairs, leaving a completely stunned and utterly confused demon.

Dean twisted his wrists again and shut his eyes to concentrate on the task at hand.

The water-pipes squeaked above him and he grinned. He simply LOVED these old houses.

A drop of water fell to the ground, where the outer circle of the devil's trap had been drawn. After a few seconds, a second one fell, and the chalk started to show first signs of dissolving ...

_... to be continued_

* * *

  
  


_The Stars Will Guide Me Home_

**CHAPTER II**

Sam gripped the shopping bags tightly, as he thumped up the porch. Once in front of the door, he fumbled for the keys in his pocket and when he finally managed to pull them out without dropping the bags, he unlocked it.

Even more tired than before, Sam sauntered into the kitchen, where he dropped the bags on the counter and immediately started to fill up the fridge with fresh meat, bread, eggs, ham and other things he'd need for the next couple of days.

At least he got THAT covered. He wouldn't starve while interrogating the demon and once the corpse was burnt and buried he'd leave here anyway.

Actually, after stuffing two bars of Snickers and a Mars into his face, he felt a lot better. He even thought about cooking for lunch and heading back into the basement later on. Maybe he'd even get an hour sleep in front of the TV ...

Then again ... he didn't want to give Alistair any chance to taunt him ... so nope, sleep it wouldn't be.

When everything was stored, Sam pulled the knife from the back of his jeans and laid it on the counter, before he bowed down to get the full dust-bin outside.

Maybe he should bring the demon something to eat too ... at least his meatsuit had to be hungry, right? After all, he couldn't let the man starve who was actually possessed. Not that it truly mattered anyway … after all, he was the one torturing him – KILLING him. Because he was a selfish bastard, because he wanted to end those nightmares and be free again.

After all – with those injuries, and the hospital about fifty miles away – the guy he was riding wouldn't make it either way. So why bother wasting good money and food on someone who was already doomed?

The guy the demon was riding was high likely dead already ... he should save the food for himself.

Yeah, sometimes Sam asked himself when he had become that cruel and self-loathing. He wondered when he had decided that someone else's life was worth less than his own …

With a sigh, Sam went back into the livingroom and switched the TV on.

After a while, his eyes narrowed as they stared into nothingness. All of a sudden something didn't feel right – Far from it. His hunter-instincts never betrayed him ...

He switched the TV off and strained his ears. Though he heard nothing ... still, **something** felt off.

Sam reached behind himself, feeling for the knife. A silent curse fell from his lips as he realized that the knife laid in the kitchen on the counter.

His thoughts instantly flew to the demon in the basement and the fact that he should've checked on him when he came home from shopping.

He had the feeling that his slacking was going to bite him in the ass pretty soon if he wasn't more careful and attentive. Somehow he wondered how he had survived the past year anyway.

Ever so slowly he got up from the couch, listening to the total silence in the house and the rustling of his own clothes, when he rounded the couch. Sam gave the door to the basement a glare, as he passed it on his way into the kitchen. It was still closed, and the lock seemed to be in place.

It struck him like Thor's hammer, when his gaze landed on the empty counter, freezing in the doorway and saw only his abandoned mug was standing there.

The knife was gone ...

He wasn't alone in the house ...

At least not anymore …

" _Shit, shit, shit._ " Sam spun around and was about to take off, as he found himself face to face with a pair of large obsidian orbs, staring right back at him.

"Shit doesn't cover it, Sam," Dean snarled, the expression on his face beyond feral.

The demon's face was cleaned from the dried blood – obviously he'd been around for longer than Sam expected.

The hunter's blank expression morphed slowly as he took a tentative step backwards, getting out of the demon's personal space.

"You can't run. And you know it," the demon purred, the corners of his lips tugging upwards slightly. "And I suggest you don't try to fight me." Despite his words, he'd be pretty disappointed if the hunter wouldn't even try to save his sorry ass. He grinned at the shocked expression on the taller man's face who was backing away another tentative step towards the counter.

"Screw you," Sam hissed, drawing back another step. A moment later his features recovered and his face was covered by a mask of anger and hate.

Dean took a step forward, watching the hunter's movements closely. "I'm going to SCREW YOU, hunter." He cocked an eyebrow, as his eyes wandered over all over the taller man's form. He then cocked his head to the side and pursed his lips, as if he was thinking about something.

"Wait and see, bastard." Sam's hand trailed over the chair's leg to its middle. Then without losing time, he sent the piece of furniture flying towards his foe.

Dean blocked it with his lower arm and snarled. "Thought you were better than that," he spat at him.

A wicked grin formed on the hunter's lips, nodding towards the machete in his right hand, which he had pulled in a matter of seconds from a sheath under the table.

"I AM better than that," Sam said calmly.

Dean took a step closer, locking his gaze with the hunter's. "Lay it down and maybe I'll let you live." Another step.

"No way in hell," the hunter shot back.

"We both know that won't hurt me." Another step forward, while Sam took one backwards.

"But it's going to slow you down." The hunter thrust his jaw forward, the muscles in his long neck working. His adams apple bobbed.

"Maybe it'd slow any other demon down. But not me." Black eyes followed every very move the human made.

With that the demon attacked, sending his fist flying. Sam countered gracefully, swinging the machete, but somehow the demon managed to get a hold of his wrist and twist it around, so that he had to let go. Dean gave the hunter a shove, who stumbled backwards but caught himself before he could fall.

"See? Told you."

Sam panted slightly, his chest heaving. "You're not going to get me. - I'd rather die," he spat at him.

"So it shall be." Dean wouldn't make amends anymore. He was done playing. With a swift motion, he was in the hunter's space, landing a brutal punch to his ribs. He could literally _feel_ the hunter's bones snap against his knuckles.

Sam gasped, as searing pain lanced through his ribcage and sent his mind and vision reeling for several long seconds. His knees buckled and he gasped for air. He had to give the demon some credit. Despite Sam's fight for oxygen, that bastard grabbed him by the throat and squeezed. He actually SQUEEZED – though not enough to choke him – at least not instantly.

Sam arms flew up and his hands grabbed the wrist and arm, trying desperately to wrench it free.

The demon just smirked slyly. "Figured that'd be easy, ha? Ain't like you're in any condition to stand a REAL fight." He chuckled low and shook his head, never breaking eye contact with the hunter.

He felt the hunter's nails dig into his skin desperately. He saw the rising panic in his eyes and the haze of oxygen-deprivation grow over his hazel-green circles.

Then he let go. Simply let go. Because this wouldn't be fun at all – not after that bitch had beaten the crap out of him in the basement. Not after he had sliced him up and broke his fingers.

With a sigh, Dean stepped back and turned his back on the hunter.

Sam's knees gave out under him and he fell, catching himself with his hands against the wooden floor. He sucked in wheezing breaths, feeling the growing swell the man's grip was causing in his throat.

"Can't let you get away that easy, can I?", Dean asked, his voice light. There was a short pause. "No one captures me and gets away with it. NO ONE," the last words were a growl. He sighed again and cast his look down, thinking about what to do with the hunter now.

It wasn't like he wanted to kill him per say. - Though he deserved to die. Everyone who dared to get this close to him and thought he could torture Dean Winchester deserved even worse than just dying. He needed to make an example before everyone would think it was okay to go after him. Either this and he'd let the hunter get away with broken bones and memories that would last a lifetime or he'd simply slit his throat so that no one would ever know.

Still – he wasn't sure. A part of him wanted to know what the hunter wanted Alistair for – after all he was practically Lucifer's right hand. More or less at least, since Lucifer was captured in the pit ever since Michael cast him down.

If he spooked that bastard bad enough he'd probably learn to stay away from him...

The very next moment – Dean was about to turn around and face his newly captured hunter again – when he felt a heavy weight against his back, throwing him off balance.

Both men landed on the floor, face down, Sam on top of him, using all his weight to pin the demon down. Though it was no use. He, with his human strength was nothing compared to the demon's powers.

With a simple flick of Dean's elbow into the hunter's side, he threw the younger man off of him and the very next second he was about to get back on his feet. Sam didn't think about letting that bastard win anyway, so he landed a punch into the man's knee-side. Dean's leg gave in and he grunted – rather annoyed than really hurt.

Sam was on all fours, desperately trying to get back on his feet, was gripped by the back of his shirt and hauled to his feet, just to find himself – face first – pinned against the wall.

Dean had enough. It was like fighting with an already wounded animal. Time to make it clear to that douchebag, that it wouldn't matter what he'd try. He'd always lose. So he pushed the man up against the wall, one arm across his neck, the other one capturing his ridiculously long arms by the wrists and holding them in place above his head against the wall.

The demon used all his weight to keep Sam in place, who still struggled against his hold.

Dean leaned in closer, pressing his hips up against the hunter's butt. "I told you I'd screw you, handsome," he purred, trying to sound as aroused as he could manage. "I'm a man who keeps his promises."

Sam was panting, frantically blinking his eyes. Suddenly it wasn't just his throat that felt like closing up. The weight against his back, pressing him into the wall, was suffocating him. He felt himself starting to tremble and shake. A sheen of cool sweat developed fast and covered his whole body in a matter of seconds.

Sam's heart was hammering in his chest and pumped roaring blood through his skull and ears, as the demon's hold on him tightened. He felt Dean Winchester's hips press firmly against the curve of his bottom and heard the promising words in his ears.

"Don't." All pride forgotten, Sam felt the need to simply get out of this situation. Pure terror sinking its claws into him right then. "Please ... don't ... don't do this ... _don't_."

This wasn't the hunter Dean had been fighting with seconds ago. This sounded way too young for the man's actual age. It didn't sound like a man anymore – more like a frightened kid ... a kid who was scared shitless ...

Dean was glad that the hunter couldn't see the change on his face, as he heard his plea his eyes were back to forest-green and his hold eased slightly, a look of confusion settled over his features.

"I told you to let it go. I told you to not start a fight, didn't I?" Dean hissed into his ear, "You should've listened. NOW you're gonna **pay**."

"Please ... please ... don't." Sam had no clue what he was actually begging for. At least not right in that moment. "Kill me. Torture me. But don't do this. Not _this_." He knew he wouldn't have the strength to get out of this AGAIN. Not after Alistair. Not after what that bastard had done to him for the past two years. Sam KNEW he wouldn't be able to take any more of all this messed up shit.

He'd rather die.

Dean KNEW **what** the man was afraid of. Well, he hadn't been right then and his mind picked up on it just a moment later, but nonetheless it would make his job of teaching that bastard a lesson way easier.

To prove his point, Dean rolled his hips slowly, pushing the man into the wall further.

"Oh, Sammy. - I'm going to enjoy this. I'll make you scream. BEG for it. And when I'm done, I may leave you a gun to end yourself," he whispered into the man's ear.

A choked sob fell from Sam's lips. "No .. please ... please ..."

Dean let go of him all of a sudden and Sam sank to the floor. The hunter's breath caught for a moment and when he dared to look up he had just enough time to see the demon swing his fist.

Then blackness took him away from the world of conciousness.

_~*DW & SW*~_

Dean sat on the couch in the living room munching popcorn while some reality show was playing on the TV. It wasn't like he was really interested in it anyway. He just needed to think.

The hunter was still out cold, cuffed to the bed and naked. Well, not completely, since he had shown mercy and had covered him with one of the blankets. No matter how bad he felt right now about what he was going to do, he needed to make a point, right? And besides: The man had tortured him. He had HURT him. He had the nerve to actually capture him – not to mention all the other little things. The hunter deserved what was coming at him.

AND it also could be fun, couldn't it? He had always taken what he wanted … EVERYTHING. Well, except a few things … like lives and sex. Dean wasn't that much of a rapist – at least he didn't think of himself that way. So far he hadn't had the urge to lay hands on someone who didn't want him to.

But in this case … he might make an exception. Hell, that guy had begged him to torture him. To kill him. What the fuck? Usually people were begging him for quite the opposite – not literally – not the killing part.

So when torture and death weren't that bad for the hunter, THIS had to be even worse. Maybe he'd learn where he belonged due that.

Dean didn't feel hungry anymore – besides, the popcorn tasted like shit. Where did that douchebag get this cheap stuff from? There was a reason why no one would buy it, except for those who hadn't enough money …

Okay, that _was_ a reason.

He gulped the rest of the whiskey down and rose with a sigh. Dean rubbed over his face with both hands and glanced out of the window.

He'd need to get his baby too. - Not to mention what could happen to her if the wrong person found her. Humans were really screwed up – that much had to be said.

_~*DW & SW*~_

The first thing Sam felt was pain. Shit. Yeah. That was definitely pain. The ugly kind. Stabbing jolts of white agony lancing through his ribcage, as he pulled in his first breath while he was conscious.

That felt like broken ribs.

Then there was his jaw. And his throat. Shit. That bastard had got him good.

The second thing he realized was, that couldn't move and that his arms and legs were spread in a weird angle, away from his body. For a moment he didn't recognize it. He felt the metal round his wrists and ankles. He figured, that he was naked, but strangely warm.

That was, until his eyes snapped open and his breathing increased.

He was cuffed to the bed and he was naked, with a damn demon in the house.

Sam pulled at the cuffs holding his arms in place. His breathing sped up again. When he tried to pull his legs up, they just moved for a matter of an inch or two.

„ _No_ ..." he breathed hoarsely. This couldn't happen – not again. „ _No … no no no ..._ "

He tore on his bindings again, not caring that the metal was digging into his flesh and tearing his skin to hell. „No." What started tentatively, soon grew erratic and panicked.

The demon wasn't about to kill him, or torture him.

Obviously the cuffs rattling had gained the demon's attention, because pretty soon after Sam had started to try to rip his hands and feet off, the door opened and Dean Winchester stepped in, a blank expression on his face.

Sam's face snapped towards the door and he blinked a couple of times as he stilled in his bindings, trying to will back the tears that threatened to pour out of him. Giant, frightened eyes stared into the demon's direction.

„I see you're awake," Dean said coldly while he shed his jacket and threw it over a chair beside the door. „Good."

Sam Harvelle's gaze followed every move and gesture the man made, like the prey watching its hunter.

Dean stopped at the end of the bed and let his gaze roam over the man. He took delicate care not to look at his eyes too intently after all – the fear in them, the sheer terror could throw him off his path of revenge. And that was definitely something he didn't want.

Goosebumps rose all over Sam's skin as he watched the man watching him. No way he'd give in without struggle.

Dean's fingers trailed over his leather belt until they landed on the clasp. Casually, as if he was undressing to take a bath or dressed in a fresh set of clothes, he started to unbuckle it.

Sam's eyes widened at that.

„I suggest you do what you're told. Otherwise it's going to hurt pretty bad, hunter." Dean continued to pull the shirt over his head and fling it towards his jacket. He then walked around the bed, until he stood beside it and toed off his shoes. A smug grin spread over his whole face. „Who knows. You might even enjoy it ..."

Sam tried to pull away from the man, as he reached for him. He felt the man's fingertips against his skin, right above the blanket's hem. He shook his head slightly, his gaze locked with the demon's.

Dean pulled the blanket aside – all the way.

It felt like heaven to see that bossy bastard flinch away from him. The way the man's eyes flickered from horror into full blown panic within a matter of seconds.

The demon's fingertips lowered right above Sam's collarbone and traced a tender line over his chest, bruised ribs, flank, sharp hip-bones, thighs, knees and his calf towards where the cuffs were closed tightly around the man's ankles. Dean tugged on the short chain and pursed his lips.

„Figure we'll need some more room, don't we?" He cocked an eyebrow as he looked back up at the hunter's face. „You know … these are yours." He tugged on the chain again. „Found them among your arsenal …"

Yeah, Sam _knew_ these …

Dean's gaze traveled back down to the cuffs and he pursed his lips. He then bowed down slightly and open the shackle, which was securing the cuff to the bed, to lengthen the chain a bit before he closed it again. The demon did the same with the one securing Sam's left foot to the bed and came back up at the side of the bed.

He nodded satisfied. „See? … Much better."

Sam cringed away. With the newly won freedom he was able to shift himself more to the side – even when it were just a couple of inches. His whole body was trembling with fear though he swore to himself that he'd keep his mouth shut. He wouldn't give that bastard the satisfaction to hear him scream.

All his resolve crumbled to pieces and faded into nothingness, when Dean climbed in between his spread legs and pushed his denim-clad crotch into his.

… _. to be continued_

* * *

  
  


_~*DW & SW*~_

**CHAPTER III ...**

_... picks up where we have left:_

Sam whimpered; tried to twist away, get distance between himself and the demon, as he ground down on him.

"Please don't do this. _Don't_... please ... **please** ..." heartwrenching pleas fell from the hunter's lips in between sobs.

Tears were running freely down his skin and soaking his hair and pillow.

Dean grunted, pinning the taller man's body down with his weight, as he tried to reassure himself that this was what the hunter deserved. That this was what he himself deserved. He told himself that he was allowed to take that from the man, because he had taken something from him. He had taken his freedom, even if only temporarily.

Samuel Harvelle deserved to be punished in the one way he wouldn't soon forget.

So yes, he would do this, would enjoy it. Would wallow in the man's fear and panic and bath in his pain.

The hunter yanked on the cuffs, tearing his skin open until raw, bleeding flesh was visible.

"NO! - Please don't! PLEASE _don't_!" Sam's frantic shouts echoed through the entire house, when Dean reached in between where their hips connected and flipped the fly of his jeans open.

"Please ... please, _kill me_." Sam panted, all self-control gone by now. "Don't do this. Don't. DONT!"

The demon sealed his palm over the hunter's mouth to stop him from babbling. "Don't make me gag you," he hissed angrily.

He had just gotten his manhood to get in the mood and now all his efforts were to no avail, since his crown jewels weren't responding the way he wanted them to. It was quite the opposite. Instead of that something _growing_ , they were shrinking as if to try to hide somewhere INSIDE his body instead of making a memorable experience ...

Sam panted through his nose, his eyes wide, pleading and filled with indescribable fear.

Dean tried to look away, tried to concentrate on what he had planned to do. On fucking that damn bastard through the mattress and enjoying it.

_Damn it._

The demon tightened his hold over Sam's mouth and pushed his head into the pillow, his eyes black as the night itself, as he glared at him for a very very long moment. There wasn't just anger on his face. Also bitterness and grief.

" _Damn it,_ " Dean hissed and let his forehead drop to Sam's heaving chest. "I can't do this," he muttered to himself and rolled off of the hunter.

With a fast movement, Dean was out of bed and on his feet, stalking towards the chair where his abandoned shirt and jacket were. He pulled it back on and left the room without looking back.

He needed air. And a cigarette. He needed whiskey and a good fuck though. Well, you couldn't have everything. Air was in front of the door, a pack of cigarettes was in his jacket. For the whiskey and the good fuck he'd have to drive somewhere.

Dean looked around as he pulled a Zippo and a pack of Pall Mall from his pocket. The house was in the middle of nowhere, somewhere in the woods. Fuck this, he didn't even know which state he was right now. He could be freaking anywhere in the US. - _Shit_.

AND he still had to figure out what to do with the hunter.

Sometimes he asked himself why he was such a lousy demon. He was supposed to be the BAD GUY. Dean was supposed to be the WORST of his kind. Not just because of the obvious, also because of what slumbered hidden deep inside of him. He wasn't supposed to let idiots live who dared to try to end his life, nor capture him. Let alone the torture.

Dean took a deep drag from the cigarette, as he eyed the old Ford Pick Up in the driveway.

How the hell could he even possibly feel like the worst scum on this god forsaken world? He wasn't supposed to feel ANYTHING, so why the hell wasn't even his demonic life easy? Why couldn't he just screw that guy over and go back where he came from?

He pulled again from the cigarette and threw it aside then. With a heavy sigh, Dean made a few steps towards the car and then turned around to look at the porch. Nope, he couldn't go back in there right now. Hell, he couldn't _face_ that guy right now. - Not after what happened minutes ago.

"Aw c'mon," he groaned, annoyed. " _Embarrassment_? Honestly?"

_~*DW & SW*~_

Sam yanked on the cuffs, which secured his wrists to the bed, once more. His lower lips quivered and he swallowed a choked sob. It was chilly.

Something told him that the demon wouldn't come back any time soon ... and he was already feeling the coldness nagging at his bare skin. He closed his eyes, trying to will his hammering heart to slow down and to try to think about something warmer ... something more _comfortable_.

Sam tried to push the thoughts of what could've possibly happened to him minutes earlier aside and took a deep shuddering breath to calm his raw nerves down. Another inhale and he felt his heart rate slowing down a bit. Enough to get parts of his mind together and start to THINK.

He needed to get out of there. The only thing was, he couldn't.

_~*DW & SW*~_

Four hours later, Dean Winchester entered the abandoned house again, with a bag containing two bottles of Jack Daniels and half a dozen packs of cigarettes. With an absent expression, he headed into the kitchen, where he stored the alcohol and cigarettes in one of the cabinets, leaving the shopping bag carelessly on the counter.

He then searched through the cupboards until he finally held a glass in hand and filled it with cool water from the tap. Dean sat it on the counter and shrugged his jacket off. He knew for a human it'd feel cold inside. Actually it felt cooler here than outside anyway.

Happily, Dean Winchester wasn't bothered by the weather at all. Okay, it sucked when it was damn hot and the air thick – of course it did, but it wasn't like he could be bothered by coldness or heat in any other way.

Grabbing the glass again, he headed back into the living-room and upstairs, where he turned left and took the first door to his right.

Maybe all his problems would be gone by now. - Then again: he hadn't been out THAT long. Besides, how could Samuel Harvelle manage to get out of the cuffs? It wasn't like he left him the key or something useful anywhere around.

Though, when he realized that the hunter was naked and without cover, it hit him pretty hard.

"Aw shit," Dean muttered. He didn't want to deal with a corpse on top of everything else. And the worst thing was, that the man was a _hunter_. One of his friends would surely miss him if he suddenly disappeared... and if they found out he was dead ... and the circumstances ...

Some of them didn't take very kindly if you beat one of their kind up. Even if Samuel didn't know a lot of other hunters, it'd be a pain in the ass.

Point was, Dean's anger was close to gone – though the reasons for it were not forgotten at all. He had decided to let the hunter go ... in a couple of days, anyway. They were here in the middle of nowhere and he couldn't leave him in the house like this – alone.

It was getting pretty cold at night these days and he could tell that he had hurt Samuel Harvelle pretty bad. There were at least a couple of broken ribs, a concussion and not to mention his wrists and ankles, the younger man had managed to tear himself up. And now there was a serious case of hypothermia on the hunter's list of problems.

Dean switched the lights on and sauntered over to the bed. He put the glass on the nightstand and bowed slightly over the unmoving form.

Still breathing, though labored.

His heart was beating.

He was alive. - Lucky him.

Dean reached for the blanket and pulled it back over the man, up to his shoulders (but not without checking out the man's body throughly). He then got the comforter and laid it over him too. A blanket alone wouldn't help any ...

And Sam had to drink. Going more than twenty-four hours without administering fluids to a human's body could take a toll on someone like him. - Someone who hadn't slept nor eaten properly for days ...

This guy truly had to be suicidal. Didn't anyone teach him that he wasn't supposed to go up against a demon in his current condition? Hadn't someone tought him that he had to be hundred percent to do a job? Obviously not, because otherwise it wouldn't have been that easy to get the hunter.

Then again ... He was looking for a way to find Alistair. - That bastard. Yeah, Dean Winchester knew him. Hell, he knew him better than he liked to. This demon had done things to him – cruel things – in hell. He had thrust a knife in his hand and told him to torture others. As reward he wouldn't be the one who got tortured.

Maybe the hunter wanted to get revenge for someone dear he had lost ... Something Dean couldn't be mad about. Still, Samuel Harvelle had tortured _him_ for days ... had thrown holy water at him ...

Right now wasn't the time to think about that anyway.

Not that holy water truly hurt him.

He had decided not to kill Sam. And he knew that this doesn't meant that he wouldn't let him die if it happened. Then again, it was murder too if he'd let him freeze to death, or uncuff him and leave him on his own, wasn't it? Because he KNEW that Samuel Harvelle couldn't help himself right the fuck now.

So yeah. He had to make sure that he'd stay alive long enough until he'd be able to get along on his own again what didn't mean that Dean had to go easy on him.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, right beside Sam's hip and reached for the glass of water again with his left hand. He hesitated ...

"Hunter," he said coldly and patted his right cheek. "Wake up."

There was a whimper and fluttering eyelashes and a violent flinch to the side, when Sam yanked on the cuffs once again and pulled away from the touch.

His gaze seemed hazy and unfocused. He surely seemed to know who was with him – The hunter was terrified.

"I want you to drink some water." Dean slid with his free hand under Sam's neck, tilting his head up. "It's just water," he repeated, when Sam tried to pull away from the cool liquid covering his lips.

The hunter licked over his lower lip, obviously wanting to taste it before he'd gulp the clear liquid down.

Dean put the glass to his lips once more and tilted it up. In an instant, Sam started to drink it down greedily. - At least as much of it as the demon allowed him, since he wasn't sure when he'd get his next serving.

"You're gonna make yourself sick, Sam. I'd slow down if I were you." Dean warned him in an unthreatening tone. "I know what I'm talking about."

For a long moment, Sam couldn't tell what was up and what was down. What was him and what was the bed. He felt disoriented and he was cold. _So cold._

The only thing he knew was, that he was in danger. That there was a demon, who gave him water, who had covered his body. Who was going to do THINGS to him. Maybe not right now. Maybe not tomorrow, but he'd do. Sooner or later, when Sam seemed more appealing again, he'd try.

Dean's thumb rubbed over the spot behind Sam's ear, as he helped him to hold his head up a bit longer for a second sip of water. Weirdly enough, the ministration didn't feel as bad as it was supposed to. It felt soothing ... and gentle ...as if the demon really cared about his wellbeing for a moment.

Those guys knew how to screw with someone's head.

A chilling shudder erupted from the depths of his soul and took his body with.

Dean eased the hunter's head back down on the pillow. He put the glass aside and then bowed forward, so that his lips were close to the hunter's ear, while he held his head in place as Sam tried to pull away and wrench out of his grasp.

"I am going to remove the cuffs now," Dean whispered huskily – though there was no reason to be silent at all. "Don't try anything, hunter, or you'll regret it. Got it?" To underline his words, the demon's hand on his neck moved a bit and he pressed his thumb into the livid bruise beside his adam's apple.

Despite the fact the hunter didn't exactly smell fresh as a daisy... there was something luring about it. Something that went straight to the core of Dean's black soul. Something that turned the demon on – and not just physically. He drew in a deep breath and his eyes fluttered close for a short moment. He held his breath, before he let it out again.

Sam nodded jerkily. - Was the demon scenting him? Well, he couldn't say that the Winchester was stinking either, but scenting? Honestly? What the fuck?

Dean brought some distance between himself and the hunter's ear to make eye contact. "I won't let you go. - At least not right now," he explained louder.

He would show the hunter that HE wasn't a threat to anyone who wasn't a threat to him. First he'd have some fun anyway. Showing the guy that he COULD do with him whatever he wanted. That _he_ was at the demon's mercy and not the other way round. He could overpower the hunter at any time, but he'd prove to him that he didn't WANT to, as long as no one WANTED to hurt him.

Sounded like a plan, right?

Hell, he didn't even know WHY he would want to prove himself to anyone. He didn't NEED others. At least not people to call friends. Relationships of all kinds were pretty messed up anyway. Except it was for those lonely nights, when he was desperate enough to pay for a companion.

Sam eyed the man warily as he backed off and went to the end of the bed. Dean yanked the comforter and blanket back.

The hunter flinched away with his feet.

Dean wouldn't look up. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small key, with which he opened the cuffs and let them fall to the floor.

Instinctively, Sam drew his legs up, his toes curling inwards under the growing warmth under the layers.

The demon sauntered to the side of the bed and reached for the hunter's left wrist, all the while opening the cuffs. Sam eyed him timidly. Of all things he had expected, this had been the last.

Either the demon was just plain STUPID, or he had something waiting in line for him ...

When Sam's wrists were free, he lowered his arms to the pillow above his head and groaned. His shoulders and arms felt sore and ached from the angle they had been in for so long.

"Just don't move them for a couple of minutes," Dean said and backed off, stuffing the key back into his front-pocket. "You tore them up pretty good." He winked at Sam's wrists.

The hunter just looked at him, while Dean left the room, to return a moment later with something that looked like the medical case he had stored under the kitchen sink.

Dean didn't look directly at Sam, nor did he address him in any kind of way while he reached for his wrists and eased them down beside the hunter, where he bandaged them properly. To his surprise, the hunter didn't make any noise.

He just lay there and watched him closely.

Sam hadn't thought that someone from the darkside – like a demon – was capable of being gentle, or careful. Dean Winchester was in fact tending his wounds as if they were his own. Then again, Sam wasn't sure if the demon would be tending his own wounds like this anyway. The guy seemed rough at his edges ... but maybe there was a soft spot in his center though. After all his hands didn't feel like Sam thought they would. In contrast to the last time he'd felt them, Dean's hands were smooth and soft and rather caressing his skin instead of treating them.

"You're warming up there, sport?" Dean asked casually.

Sam just nodded – despite the fact that he wasn't. Not at all. His toes felt freaking cold, so was the rest of him.

"I know when you're lying, you know?" Dean looked up for the first time, as he finished his handy-work. "I can smell it ..."

Sam cocked an eyebrow. "Why would you even care?" his voice was small and raw and it visibly hurt to speak.

Dean bowed down, bringing his lips close to Sam's ear, as if he was going to tell him something secret. "Just because," he breathed in a tone that promised nothing good at all and a shudder coursed through the hunter's body.

"Why not kill me?" Sam rasped silently.

Dean made an aroused sound. "That'd be less fun, Sammy. I love to PLAY with my toys."

Sam's breath caught in his throat. He knew that's what this was about. Bruised and with broken ribs he wouldn't be as entertaining as when he was when he'd be healthy and better looking than right the fuck now.

"But don't you worry. I'll take my time with you," the demon whispered slyly. "Promise."

Sam swallowed around the swollen mess of his throat. "Bastard," he hissed.

Dean pulled back – a bit surprised by the way the hunter sounded, how the expression from frightened little boy turned into bitchy princess within seconds. It wasn't that his voice was shaky – it was TERRIFIED. Because everyone would've been. Everyone else – just not a hunter. THAT was what confused him.

On the other hand: He could be really frightening ... He was Dean FREAKING Winchester.

He pulled back again, his fingers still wrapped lightly around the hunter's bandaged wrist and laid it down beside him on top of the sheets. His digits traced over it as he let go and he stood up from the bed.

Dean then pulled a bottle of pills out of the case and laid two of them on the nightstand. Closing the bottle again and throwing it back into the bag, he turned halfway around to give the hunter a look. And maybe the look wasn't as cold as it was supposed to be. Maybe there was a flicker of emotion in those forest-green eyes.

Dean packed the medical case back up and cradled the gauze together in one hand.

"You'd better rest up, bitch," he said, while he walked out of the room, leaving the door wide open.

Sleep was pulling on Sam's mind and body though he refused to let himself drift off, since he knew what would be waiting for him if he did. The last thing he needed was another demon. The last one he needed was Alistair.

Sam shouldn't have gone into this half-cocked, exhausted and tired. This job was designed to go wrong from the very start. He should've captured the demon, should've left him in the basement for a couple of days. He should've eaten and should've tried to sleep despite what was waiting for him in his dreams. At least his body would've been rested.

Now it was too late to even think about it. He was fed up with everything. This situation. His life. The world.

Sam gazed towards the nightstand, where the pills laid. The glass was empty. Didn't matter. So he reached for them and swallowed them dry well knowing that the pills would push him off to sleep.

Miraculously, he didn't dream. - Not at all. Maybe two hours were too short, or Alistair was busy otherwise. Or he just couldn't remember - what happened sometimes.

The aching of his ribs was dull and the pounding in his head wasn't that bad either anymore. At least not at the moment. So instead of concentrating on pushing the pain away, Sam had time to think about his situation a bit clearer. He was in a similar situation once. he had gotten out of it too.

The only thing was, that Sam didn't know if he wanted to fight this kind of fight all over again. Well, he WAS sure that he didn't want to. He was too tired of all of this. Too exhausted.

What was he even fighting for? The life of a hunter? Getting injured on a regular basis, hunting monsters that didn't show mercy. And for what?

Sure. Saving People. Hunting Things. It was a damn freaking business.

He had always craved a normal life. A white picket fence, a dog, maybe a partner ... He had lost everyone he cared about. Bobby. His mom. And little Jo – his step-sister. Maybe he could go back to the roadhouse and reopen it. After all there was still Ash. And Ash sucked at managing a bar – let alone a horde of hunters. He could pay his debts to the world in being a fortress for others of his kind.

He could. But he wasn't sure if that was what he wanted.

He couldn't do that with Alistair in his head. Someone would catch up on his state of mind – sooner or later. Someone would find a way to use it against him. No matter if any other hunter, or demons. There was always someone who wanted his head on a stick.

And if he was honest with himself: He wouldn't find Alistair. And even if he WOULD – he had no clue about how to kill that bastard for good.

Sam groaned as he turned his head to the side and then tilted it up to look towards the door. He needed a toilet – and clothes.

Well, CLOTHES. Wow. Sam's gaze got caught on a stack of neatly folded fabrics at the end of the bed. On top of them, lay one of his briefs and a small piece of paper. He rolled his eyes and shook his head slighty.

At least the demon didn't want him to go without.

Sam sat up awkwardly and snatched the paper, reading what was written on it.

"Get dressed, sweetheart. I'd like to see your ass in tight jeans this evening." The hunter's eyebrows furrowed. That guy surely thought he was FUNNY. Hell, he was not. Sam didn't own any tight jeans. Which made him smirk.

"Fuck you too," he grumbled and pulled the clothes closer.

Halfway satisfied with what Dean had prepared for him to wear, he got dressed. Though it took him some effort and a whole lot of time, since his head spun after each movement, and his ribs started to sting worse. Though he managed it without uttering a single noise.

Dean was right by the way. Those jeans were damn tight. Where did he get them from anyway? Sam couldn't remember owning a pair like these.

What the demon hadn't prepared for him were shoes.

Sam then headed into the bathroom and took care of his business. On his way out he snatched a look into the mirror and wondered afterwards how he could've let it get this far. He looked like crap. No wonder even a demon showed pity.

With another sigh, Sam walked slowly down the stairs, where he could already smell FOOD. It smelled like burgers and bacon ... and fries.

Finally at the foot of the stairs, Sam was panting heavily, clinging to the banister with his right hand, while his left was wrapped around his rib cage. He then took a sharp swaying turn to the right and headed into the kitchen, where the demon stood with his back to him.

On his way there, he checked his surroundings in hope to spot his duffel somewhere. No such luck.

The demon had been wise enough to put it away.

Which meant, Sam had to play along a while longer, until he was stronger. He wouldn't let that bastard screw him anyway. He walked over to the small table and sat down at it.

Dean wouldn't turn around to face him. Instead he was turning the meatloafs in the pan over and over again.

There sat two – cut in half – burger-buns on the counter. Each one on a plate. Sam spotted fries in the oven too ...

Was that guy COOKING? What kind of demon cooked? Weren't they usually supposed to spread evil in the world? To make it a bit worse every day?

When the demon was done, he arranged everything on the plates and brought them to the table, setting one in front of Sam and the other one on the opposite side. He then went back and got two glasses and a bottle with coke.

These were definitely things Sam hadn't demon gave him a challenging look before he sat down on the seat which he claimed to be his. Dean then opened the bottle – it made the usual sound it was supposed to, when the bottle got unscrewed for the first time – and poured some of it into each glass.

Sam leaned back and watched the man intently, trying to read him. But Dean was acting as if he was at home – kinda like with his family after a big fight – and just sat there, eying his burger for a moment before he took his first bite.

"You're supposed to eat," he said, after he was half through his fries while Sam hadn't even touched a single thing on the table. "And drink."

"Not hungry," the hunter shot back. His voice hadn't become better, if anything it was worse.

Dean looked up, his mouth full with food, and glared at him. "You are supposed to eat. And drink," he repeated in a more dangerous tone. - It was an order. Definitely an order.

And the demon was right. He needed to eat and drink. He couldn't afford to lose any more strength. Sam'd need it to fight.

So Samuel Harvelle ate slowly, chewing on the burger and the hand full of fries. To be honest, he hadn't had such a GOOD burger in a lifetime and it cost him everything to not moan at the delicious taste on his tongue.

Though, he wasn't even half through his burger, when he started to feel a bit light-headed. Sam swallowed the bite in his mouth and put the burger back on the plate before him. Carefully, he sucked in a slow breath and exhaled it again in the same tempo.

Though, the weird feeling wouldn't subside. The pull in his chest increased.

Now he needed to decide ...

Was he going to take his pills and let the demon know about his disease, so that he had something else in hand against him? Or would he choose to collapse right there before him and accept a slow death?

_... to be continued_

* * *

  
  


**CHAPTER IV**

Dean's left eyebrow rose in suspicion as he eyed the hunter on the other side of the table. He looked a bit grey, his eyes clouded and his breathing seemed labored. There was a thin layer of sweat shining on the younger man's forehead and his hands lay flat on the table as if he needed to hold onto something.

THIS was not normal, and made the demon's radar for " _something's-fucking-wrong-with-this-situation_ " switch into hyper-mode.

"Sam?" he asked, shoving his plate slightly away from himself. "You okay over there, buddy?"

But the hunter didn't react. He just sat there as if he was carved in stone or something. His eyes grew more and more dull by the second.

Dean banged his flat palm on the table, so that the glasses and plates rattled with the violent impact to gain his attention. But there was still no reaction. Sam continued to stare and slowly his gaze was drifting into nothingness – as if he wasn't even here anymore.

The demon stood up, shoving the chair backwards with his calves and leaned over the table. "Hunter," he said more demanding. "You allergic or somethin'?"

Sam blinked, his gaze shifting slowly, until he was looking him straight in the eyes. Ever so slowly, a broad, triumphant grin grew on the hunter's lips. A grin that said more than words could ever do. Whatever it was, the hunter knew what was going on and he sure as hell wouldn't stop it.

All of a sudden, there was a knot building in Dean's guts and his heart started to hammer against his ribcage at the realization about what was going down right before his eyes.

"It's not an allergy. It's an illness," Dean hissed through gritted teeth, a mixture of horror and anger written all over his face. His forest-green eyes burned dangerously. "You fucking bastard."

Sam's eyes rolled back into his skull and his upper body slumped over the side of the chair. Wouldn't it have been for the demon's fast reflexes, the hunter would've hit the ground unprotected like a fucking bag of potatoes.

Dean eased him down to the floor slowly and cupped his face forcefully, trying to get the man's attention.

"What is it, Harvelle?" he ground out, well aware that the hunter was in no condition to answer.

Dean's thoughts flew to the cabinet upstairs in the bathroom which seemed to be the most frequented one. He had taken five pill-bottles out of it and stored them in the medical case under the sink, since he feared that the idiot would try to pull a stunt.

He hadn't looked up what the medications were for – not yet – since he hadn't time for it. NOW he wished he would've.

"What do you need?!" he yelled at him angrily.

For a very long second, he stared at the prone form beneath him, seeing as the fight inside the hunter's body seemed to get more intense. Samuel Harvelle's muscles grew taut, his jaw tightened, his breaths came out in short gasps ...

THIS wasn't supposed to happen.

Dean let go of him and hurried over to the sink. He yanked the cabinet doors open and pulled the case out, falling to his knees before it. With more force than needed, Dean wrenched the case open and dug through it, hurrying up to gather all the pill bottles inside in his hands.

He stole a glance at the body just a couple of feet away from him, before he started to check the descriptions on the bottles.

Okay, he – at least – knew three of them, all pain killers in different severities and agents. The other three he didn't know in the least. His mind spun with the intensity of this situation. Partly because it was his fault – even if indirectly. And partly because he should've known that something was off about the man's health when he had first noticed the shaking hands the other day, when he had still been in the basement.

He didn't have time for this shit. Whatever the guy had, it seemed to get worse – it seemed life-threatening. He just KNEW that it was ... He could somehow _sense_ it, the strangest sensation he'd ever felt, but he didn't have time to analyze it. So Dean gathered two of each from the stranger pills and was back on his feet in an instant. On his way back to the hunter's side, he grabbed a glass of coke and went down on his knees beside him.

He put the glass on the floor and took the man's jaw in one hand, prying his mouth open with close to no force. Actually, Samuel Harvelle seemed to be more towards the twilight, than in his world already.

He popped the pills into the man's mouth and then he pulled him up into a half-sitting position, before he set the glass to his lips and prayed that his swallowing reflexes still worked.

They did.

So Dean poured the whole glass down his throat slowly, not caring that half of it running down on the sides of Sam's mouth. He then let him sink back on the floor and put his index-finger on Sam's neck, feeling for his pulse.

"There we go," Dean muttered with a relieved huff.

Despite the fact he'd found the pulse, he kept his fingers to the man's throat. It started off as tentative, irregular and weak thumps against his fingertips, but grew stronger and more regular with every passing minute.

Half an hour later, the demon decided that the hunter's body was back on track and he got up from the floor, towering over the man. The relief he felt got replaced with anger again. Though he wasn't sure if the anger was addressed towards the hunter or himself.

Sure, Dean kept telling himself that the hunter deserved whatever would happen, because he was at least as much of a bastard as he was. But then again ... there were so many shades of grey in this world, not just black and white. Just like Dean – he didn't really belong in either category; to anywhere or to anyone. He was _alone_.

Of course the hunter needed to assume that Dean was as bad as the others – he wouldn't know better ... and Dean couldn't blame him for it.

But this?

This was definitely not part of the plan. Sure he had assumed that the hunter would try something at some point. That was why he removed the pills from the cabinet in the first place, and that was why he had searched the house for weapons. Had actually found some hidden ones in drawers, under the desk and other foreign places.

Dean picked him up from the floor as if he weighed nothing, and moved him to the couch, where he threw a blanket over him. Back in the kitchen, he took the hunter's laptop and turned it on, before he picked up the three bottles of medicine and placed them beside him on the table.

Not longer than thirty minutes later, Dean knew what the pills were for. While two of the bottles were something against fluid retention, the one with the small white pills in the form of small eggs were helping some weird sounding syndrome of the heart.

Something pretty serious ... though not life threatening as long as the hunter would keep taking them ... REGULARLY.

Dean assumed, that the hunter didn't take them regularly anyway. The man didn't look just bone-tired, he also looked like he was sick – ever since he had dragged Dean out of his cage.

This was getting a lot more complicated than he had thought. At least emotionally. Now he just needed to know what he wanted Alistair for. What reasons he had to want to track that particular demon down ...

_~*DW & SW*~_

Dean sat in the recliner, which he had pulled to the opposite side of the coffee-table across from the couch where the hunter was still out cold. The demon had put the remains of Sam's meal into the fridge, so that he'd finish it later.

His thoughts circled around the hunter since he had found out about his illness. Dean needed more information about that man. He had some contacts, who obviously knew more about a hunter called Samuel Harvelle than he did.

He called them.

Two hours and five calls later, he could assume why Sam wanted to get to Alistair. The demon held him captured for a couple of weeks and then let him go. That was about two years ago. A long time.

That surprised Dean. Of all demons, why would HE drop a hunter on the side of the road and leave him to die? Alistair must've known that there was a possibility that he'd survive this. And Alistair wasn't a demon who did things halfway. He was a man who finished things properly. So there had to be something more to the story. Something the hunter would be able to tell him – or Alistair himself. Then again: It was none of his business, right?

Dean huffed out a breath. He'd never tell him. Why should he anyway? Dean Winchester was a foe. He was the thing he was supposed to hunt and kill.

It took three more hours, until the hunter began to become restless. All the while, Dean had sat in the chair, staring holes into the man's skull as if he'd try to analyse its insides.

"Shit," Sam groaned hoarsely and squeezed his eyes shut. _Shit_. He was still alive? Damn it. That couldn't be. He was supposed to be dead. That bastard must've found his pills or something ... at least that was the only logical explanation that he was on a too short, but otherwise snug berth. It felt a lot like the couch in the livingroom ...

Dean waited several moments. "Welcome to the land of the living, Sammy," he said calmly, leaning in the recliner, arms placed comfortably on the armrests.

"Why?" was what came over his lips, before he even noticed.

Now the demon straightened up in the seat and pursed his lips. "Because I'm not the bad monster you think I am."

Sam muttered something incoherent. "I tortured you. - I know it's not fair, and I honestly doubt that you'd care that much. So if this is some sick game: Don't bother." The hunter pried his eyes open to the dimly illuminated room and blinked. "Your boss's doin' a good job so far," he added in a soft whisper, and Dean might not have caught it if it hadn't been for the silence in the house.

"First: Yes. You tortured me, bitch. Second: You've no idea what I do and do not care about. Third: I don't have a boss. I'm no ones underling," he explained calmly with stable voice. "Fourth: Don't dare put me in a drawer with these black-eyed bastards."

Sam chuckled low. "Well ..." he closed his eyes again and freed his hand from under the blanket to shield his eyes. "... as far as I can tell you've a pair of them yourself."

"Which doesn't mean that I'm one of them," Dean shot back. "You got me out of there, hunter. You saw that they had something planned for me. - You should've kept one of the others though. They might know something about Alistair and where to find him."

Sam shook his head. "My bad." His arm slid from his eyes and he turned his head to face the demon. His expression turned serious. "I kinda screwed the hunt up."

"Yes, you did," he couldn't deny that. "Guess we're good. You tortured me. I tried to rape you ... Truce." He wouldn't look anywhere but Sam, seeing how he'd react to _the word_ in specific.

And there it was: A barely noticable flinch of the hunter's body as soon as the words were spoken. A flicker of horror and fear mixed with anger flaring up in his eyes, but it was gone at least as fast as it had appeared.

"What now? You're gonna let me go? That's it?" Sam huffed out a breath, a look of disbelief on his face. "Why don't I believe you? – This is all some sick game, to you isn't it? Giving me hope and then destroying it again ... I've been through this, you know? I KNOW how your kind ticks."

Dean shrugged and leaned back again. "Guess you've to wait and see. - Anyway. I'm gonna stick around for a few days." He paused shortly. "If you want you can leave though. Get a motel-room or something."

The hunter looked at him as this was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. "This is MY house. Mine. I'm not leaving it to you. If anyone's gonna leave it's YOU."

A mischievous grin spread over the demon's face, just his eyes remained somehow cool. "Told you. I'm stickin' around for some time. So either you suck it up, or you try to find something else. - Though I think you wouldn't get very far in your condition." He paused again. "And as far as I am concerned, this house does belong to Rachel Chandler Cornfield, New York City, Grand Avenue twelve, apartment two. Grandchild of Mary Garner – former owner of this shithole."

Sam glared at him.

"So yeah. I decided to let the charade drop and be honest with you. - I'm not going to hurt you, unless you won't hurt me," Dean explained calmly.

"That's so?" The hunter didn't trust him. After all he WAS a demon – a demon who had gotten too close to him. He couldn't let himself believe, he didn't dare, that Dean Winchester wouldn't wait for an unexpected moment to get the drop on him – in whatever way possible.

"That's a fact." With that, Dean rose from his seat and stretched. "I'm gonna warm your burger up. You should finish it." And then he was gone, heading into the kitchen.

Sam sighed and closed his eyes again. So, if he could believe the demon over there in the next room, that he didn't know squat about Alistair, he had truly screwed up the hunt for a demon. OR, he could blame his – lately lame – instincts to choose the one in the cage and not one of the demonic guards.

Maybe he should head out and get another demon ...

This demon – Dean Winchester – was too confusing anyway. So he popped him his meds and now he was warming up his food ... _honestly_? THAT wasn't what a demon would do anyway. A demon would never share his food. He'd rather chain him up in the basement and give him sloppy leftovers ... OR this was some sick game in which he'd try to gain the hunter's trust and in some not attentive moment, Dean would break it again.

Minutes later, Dean returned with the food. He then placed a half-full glass of water on the table and sat back into the recliner, having a wary eye on the hunter.

"C'mon. It's gettin' cold," Dean said and bit his lower lip.

He had NO CLUE where the sudden concern came from ... not at all. He wasn't used to being concerned about anything at all that didn't affect his own situation.

Sam's eyes fluttered open again and he sat up awkwardly, pulling the blanket back over his legs and up into his lap as it slid down.

Dean saw himself tempted to support the man, but ignored the absurd urge.

The hunter eyed the burger for quite a while before he looked up at Dean. He seemed to be eager to see him eat the leftover from earlier. But why? Had he poisoned it? Was there something in the food that'd make him feel weird?

"I didn't put anything into your food if that's what concerns you," Dean said calmly. "I wouldn't have given you your pills if I wanted to kill you."

Sam huffed out a breath. "You said I can leave whenever I want to. - I think I'm going to head out tomorrow morning." He knew he wouldn't be able to stand a long drive – not even into the city – right now. But tomorrow it'd be different. Tomorrow he'd be better. So if this demon was planing something for him, he'd be at least able to defend himself – even when he didn't think that it'd help very much.

Dean's forehead creased and the space between his brows narrowed. "You're a free man. You can do whatever you want." He pursed his lips and there was a beat of silence.

Sam watched him, while he reached for the burger and took a tentative bite, chewing it carefully. He could've still put thumbtacks into it ... Or tiny shards of glass...

"I didn't spike the burger with _anything,"_ Dean said, well knowing how hunter's were ticking and acting around him – IF they knew who he was. Not that he ever had the opportunity to spend more time than actually necessary with a hunter.

Though, the thought of spiking his food brought up an idea in the back of his mind ...

Sam gave him the _you-can-never-be-sure-about-that look_ , short followed by _maybe-not-yet look_.

"Well then .." Dean shifted – suddenly uncomfortable – in his seat and straightened up a bit. He sniffed and looked aside for a moment, obviously thinking about something. "I'm going for a walk." Dean looked outside through the window behind the couch and his eyes narrowed.

Sam's brows furrowed and he followed the man's gaze outside, trying to see what the demon's gaze was focused on. It wasn't quite dark yet, but in half an hour the sun would start to set and then it'd grow dark pretty fast.

There was nothing the hunter spotted and he looked back at the demon, who still stared at something outside. He was tempted to ask what he was seeing, and wondered if his hunter-senses were working correctly. Sam didn't feel watched or something ... though his senses could be tricked too. Wouldn't be for the first time. Usually he was sniffing trouble before it actually occurred.

Then the demon rose and walked over to the chair, where his leather jacket was thrown onto.

"Is there something I should know?" Sam asked with his mouth full of burger, eying the man warily as he turned around to face the hunter.

There was a weird expression on the man's face. Something that told him that Dean KNEW something he should probably know too. Which made him slightly uneasy. Maybe the guy had invited some of his friends ... for an early _slay-the-hunter-christmas-special_.

"None of your business," Dean said and then he left.

Sam stared after him, the bite of burger stuck in his throat. It wasn't like he would be waiting for Dean to return. - No way.

_~*DW & SW*~_

The demon sauntered around the house and headed through a belt of wood towards a clearing, which he had found earlier. The itch and pull in his back wasn't painful – but extremely uncomfortable. After all it had been weeks since the last time and he knew he couldn't hide it for that long. - Well, at least the hunter didn't have to see him doing this.

It was something that bastard could use against him. Because no one knew besides himself and Castiel. An Angel.

Wasn't this funny? An Angel. He and an Angel sharing a secret.

At least Dean knew his secret was safe with this guy – actually he had become something like a freaking friend. Sure, he was a giant baby in a trenchcoat and had no clue about humans. But he surely knew DEMONS and his own kind.

It's been years since the angel had pulled him out of the fiery pits of hell. YEARS. And he had always been there ever since that day, when he dug himself out of the grave in the middle of the woods.

Despite the shit that was going on in heaven and in hell, they stuck together. An Angel and a demon, fighting side by side. He just wondered where he had been, when those idiots of demons had captured him and locked him down in that damn cage like a wild dog.

He truly had needed some help back then. AND when the hunter decided to torture him ...

Dean sniffed and pulled in a lung of cool autumn-air, as he shrugged his jacket off and dropped it into the frozen grass to his feet.

"The hunter is still alive?" came a calm voice from behind him.

Dean didn't turn around. "He's going to kill himself anyway if he's planing on going on like this." He sucked in another breath and shed his button-down shirt, so that he remained in his boots, jeans and t-shirt.

"I was thinking that you will not tolerate to be dominated by a human." The man stepped closer, his beige colored trenchcoat waving a bit, when a cold drift of air blew over the clearing. "You became more patient."

"I could've needed you back then, you know? Where've you been anyway?" Now he turned around to face the man with ocean-blue eyes and ruffled hair.

"I was ... tied up with other matters in heaven," the angel said too hesitant for Dean's liking. "So to say ..."

"Tied up, huh? Literally?" The demon pursed his lips. "You want me to gank some angel-asses?"

There was a small smile playing on those lips.

"I took care of it myself. But thank you, Dean."

The demon grinned back at him, as he tugged his shirt out of his jeans and pulled it off to drop it onto the heap of clothes.

"You know you shouldn't hide it." The angel looked down for a moment and then back up again. "It's what you are."

Dean huffed out a breath. "Really? You think I could run around like this among other humans?" He pointed with his thumps over his shoulders, his eyes wide and a look in them as if the angel was kidding him. "How am I supposed to do THAT? - I'm already a freak. A handsome freak, but a freak. - Trust me, _we_ don't want to make that worse." He smiled an dishonest smile. "At least the ladies think they're scars."

Castiel breathed out audibly. "This hunter you are sharing the house with ... is there something I should know?"

The demon looked at him confused. "What? Are you kidding me? He TORTURED me, dude. I attempted to RAPE him. - I beat the shit out of him. So NOPE. There's nothing you should know."

The angel nodded and tilted his head to the side, when Dean rolled his shoulders forth and back and wiggled with them.

"Though you are still at the same place with him." Castiel mentioned calmly.

The demon huffed out a breath and shook his head. "Because he's sick. And I beat him up. He's got several broken ribs, a concussion and some illness I didn't know before. So leaving him on his own ..." Dean didn't continue as he saw the amused look on his angel-friends face. "WHAT?"

"... You are sorry, aren't you? For doing what you attempted to do ... You learned something about him, and now you feel the urge of helping him." How right the angel was.

"Stuff it. I don't need your psycho-shit. He's leaving tomorrow anyway. Bet he's going to try to capture another demon." He couldn't hinder his voice from sounding disappointed. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"You called me and I came as soon as I could," Castiel answered.

"Well, too late, buddy," the demon shot back with a cocked eyebrow. "But ... I'm sure you would know how to track down Alistair, wouldn't you?"

The angel shrugged, a surprised look on his face. "A demon? For what would you need this information for?"

Now it was the demon's turn to shrug. "I could use your help later on. - When you know where he is."

The angels eyes narrowed. "Were those demons who captured you Alistair's men?"

Dean pursed his lips, taking a wider stance. "Cover your eyes." He looked serious. "I wouldn't want you to get hurt."

Castiel nodded. "You will not answer my question will you?"

Dean grinned. "I need to hurry up, before he's comin' out here. After all he's a hunter and he'll get suspicious."

Again the angel nodded. "I understand. You are avoiding my question, so it has to do something with the hunter in the house?"

"Yahtzee – and now go or cover your eyes," Dean said, still grinning.

There was the rattling of wings and then Castiel was gone. Dean looked around warily, making sure that no one was watching – but who would be watching out here anyway? It wasn't like there was anyone around in a fifty-miles radius.

He then hunched his shoulders slightly forward, rolled them one more time and threw his head back, making himself ready.

"This is gonna be uncomfortable," he muttered and his eyes went pitch-black.

_... to be continued_

* * *

  
  


**CHAPTER V**

Dean Winchester's back arched, his head thrown back, the muscles in his jaw, neck and throat strained to the borders of ripping. His chest heaved with the effort of keeping a feral yell down. The muscles in his biceps strained and relaxed, as the two scar-like slits which reached from shortly above his shoulder blades down to his lower back parted slightly and revealed something dark.

There were no muscles to see. No flesh. No bones.

The hidden limbs worked their way to the surface and stretched the skin on its edges painfully. Slowly but surely they shoved their way to the surface, the dark-grey fluff – of what looked like the feathers of a young bird – gleaming in the orange-yellow light of the setting sun above the surrounding trees.

As they grew, the demon's eyes black eyes morphed, until the white was visible again, and the obsidian gathered in their middle, shadowing his green orbs. Bright bluish white light radiated from him and his extra-limbs mercilessly.

Where his bare feet met the frozen grass beyond him artery-like veins started to grow and infiltrate the earth around him, waking new life on the dying autumn-ground. Bright colored grass sprung and grew unnaturally fast.

In the end, Dean Winchester stood in the middle of a field of flowers, spreading his dark-grey wings. Giant wings, the wingspan growing lighter until the tips were a silvery-grey. Wings any angel would love to have, to show off even.

Despite their size, they weren't as heavy as they looked. In fact, it felt like they didn't weigh a thing - not that Dean Winchester could complain.

He panted and tried to gain back control over his breathing and willing his shaky limbs to still. It had been too long since he had showed them, since he had USED them.

Slowly he folded them together and expanded them again, to regain his feeling in them. Dean reached around and brushed with a finger over the slightly reddish edges where the wings parted his skin and muscles. It felt like sitting too long in the same position so that his extra-limbs fell asleep.

He moved them a couple more times until the tingling sensation vanished.

"Flying freak," he muttered and grinned at himself as he moved his wings in sync, causing the flowers and knee-high grass to stir. He thought for a long moment, then he moved them again and his decision was made.

_~*DW & SW*~_

Later that night when Dean returned from his escapade over the forest's landscape, he realized that he was alone in the house.

First he hadn't thought much about the lack of light and the empty plate in the livingroom. Nor did the open counter and the missing case under the sink raise his curiosity. Not even noticing the open med-case on the kitchen-table bothered him that much.

Just then, when he moved upstairs to check on the hunter an hour later, he noticed that something was missing.

The man had turned everything upside down. Cabinets, closets ... When Dean entered the bedroom he had occupied and claimed as his own, he knew that Samuel Harvelle was gone. The duffel with the weapons he'd hidden wasn't in the closet anymore. Nor were the man's sneakers.

A wave of disappointment and anger washed over him and his expression turned into something utterly sad and somehow desperate.

Dean slumped down on the giant bed, stretched out and crossed his arms under his head. The muscles in his jaw and neck were moving and his lips quivered – though not in an attempt to suppress tears. It was more because of the internal battle raging inside his mind.

_~*DW & SW*~_

First Dean had thought he'd leave. He had packed some of the food and an abandoned revolver in a backpack.

But then he found himself unpacking again. It wasn't like he had to be somewhere special anyway. The hunter would know what he was doing ... Right? In his condition? Ill and injured?

Dean sighed and shook his head as he sat back down on his bed. Might as well – now that he was on his own –relax and hang back until Castiel would come by with more information about Alistair.

He could wear his wings inside the house without being discovered too, so why not benefit from some alone time?

_~*DW & SW*~_

Dean Winchester enjoyed himself plenty. Except for these short little episodes where he thought about a certain hunter, in which he was rather pensive and looked as if he was on the verge of becoming depressive. Mostly those episodes coincided with wondering if Castiel would be able to find Alistair. After all it had been quite some time since he had asked him for this little _huge_ favor.

 _Until a night,_ three weeks later, when he heard footfalls on the porch while he was watching a new episode of _Criminal Minds_. He turned the sound off and his eyes narrowed. Ever so slowly he rose from the couch and made his way to the front door, listening intently.

For a long moment there was silence and he thought that he might've heard wrong. But then, there was another noise, barely audible through the thick wooden front-door and another footfall. It sounded kind of OFF.

The demon's eyes narrowed, as he stared at the door.

There were two more footfalls and he listened closer. Then the doorknob moved and now he was definitely sure that this wasn't an animal... Curious, Dean tilted his head to the side as he stepped closer and laid his hand on the doorknob, while he reached with his other one for the key which was stuck in the lock.

Whoever was outside, he didn't need to let it in. The door was locked ... though he was a very curious being, and so he turned the key and right after that the knob. The door swung open under the weight from the other side and Dean jumped back surprised and a bit shocked. Though not shocked enough to let the human form _fall_ inside. Instead he made a fast move forward and gripped the tall figure, dressed in black used jeans, boots and a plaid-shirt. A figure with shaggy hair, and a damn familiar scent on him.

"Sam?" Dean asked utterly surprised.

The man didn't answer.

Of course it was Samuel Harvelle.

Dean went down with him slowly and laid him out on the small rug, his hands instantly wandering to his neck where he felt for his pulse. The man's eyes were half open and his breaths not as even as Dean would've liked. He gathered the hunter's face in his hands and locked his gaze with his.

He felt hot.

"You've taken your pills?" Dean asked.

Sam gave him a weak nod. "Didn't think ... didn't ... know -" His words slurred and nearly silent. The hunter looked disoriented.

"No time for this shit, buddy," the demon ground out, as he hauled Sam up. "You've a damn fever."

"M' side ... right side ... - hurts.", he breathed exhausted.

"What happened?" Dean demanded to know.

Sam's head lolled into the crook of his neck and his forehead rested against Dean's throat. Damn it, the guy was burning up – high likely an infection of some kind or the flu. Sometimes Dean was happy about not being human anymore. He hadn't been sick in YEARS.

"Can you tell me what happened?" For a moment, Dean doubted if it was a good idea to bring the hunter upstairs instead of a hospital. Though ... what chances did they have anyway? It'd be fifty miles into the next town - No wonder they found old Mary rotting in front of the TV a month after she had died a couple of years ago.

There was no response. Not that Dean would've awaited one anyway.

When he was in the hunter's former bedroom, he laid the man out on the covers and checked him over with a single look. There were no bloodstains or something else which would've pointed out that he was injured. But it didn't mean that he wasn't. If he had patched himself up and the wound had gotten infected ... well, the rest was crystal clear.

Dean went towards the end of the bed and pulled the man's dirty boots off. He then went back to the hunter's side and laid his hand on his cheek, feeling his over warm skin. His other hand found its way to the hunter's shoulder.

He shook him carefully.

"Sam. Open your eyes," he demanded calmly. "Open your eyes, damn it."

Reacting to the call more on instinct than anything else, the hunter's dazed eyes appeared under heavy lids. Sam's lips were moving, but there was no sound coming out – not at first anyway. It took him quite some tries before it worked.

"The bed ... load bed. I've got him ... on the load b'd, Dean," he babbled hoarsely.

"First things first, Sammy." The demon smiled weakly at him. "'kay? You tell me what happened, and I'm gonna check on the pick up as soon as you're good to be left alone."

Sam blinked and his eyes dared to drift close again, but the Winchester's grip on his shoulder tightened and he patted his cheek.

"No way, hunter." He cleared his throat and caught the man's gaze again. "I'm gonna check you over. - Get your clothes off of you, so don't freak out, 'kay?"  
Sam nodded, but Dean wasn't quite sure if he understood.

"Good. You help me, and we're done in no time." He forced a smile on his lips. "Understand?"

Sam nodded again.

"Are you hurt?" Dean tried again.

This time when Sam nodded, his hand shifting to his right side and his lips moved. Even in his dazed mind he knew how pathetic he had to look like that. Relying on a demon to help him. A demon he had tortured. A demon who had wanted to rape him. A demon who had gotten his pills in time to save his life. A demon who had let him GO.

He hadn't planned on coming back here - Not at the beginning. Not as long as he didn't know if Dean Winchester was still there. But after he had captured the demon – and not getting away uninjured – he needed to hole up somewhere. Three days ago, he had found an abandoned warehouse in which he had planned to stay – until the fever came and the infected, stitched-up wound at the back of his right side got hypersensitive. That was about the time when he had started to feel REAL sick.

So he decided to go back to the house, where at least he would have a roof over his head and warmth– specially at night. He had hoped that the demon would be gone when he arrived. But now he was somehow glad that Dean Winchester had stayed.

Dean dragged the man's shirt up towards his ribcage. The skin there looked okay, except for a single bruise. He looked up at Sam's face and saw his lips were moving again.

So he helped Sam to turn on his left side and when he lifted the man's shirt further up, he saw the bandaged area on his right flank.

He ripped the bandage off and hissed at the sight. Even in the pale moon-light he could see that it was nothing good.

"I've to turn on the lights- back in a sec," he informed the younger male and walked over to the door, beside which the light switch was.

Now, back at the bed and in the light of the bulb he grimaced at what he saw. A stitched up, shy of three inches long, gash was visible. Red and swollen – definitely inflamed. It even looked like there was pus oozing from the wound, mixed with blood. Tentatively, Dean poked the angry red area around the stitches and more pus pressed through the stitched up slit.

"We've to clean this out," he said plainly and cleared his throat. This would hurt like a bitch. "I'm gonna reopen it." Dean bit his lower lip and shook his head. "I'll get you some painkillers before we start. Wait until they kick in ..." He hesitated as he watched the hunter nod into the pillow. "Why didn't you have it looked at in the ER?"

Sam blinked and whispered. "Police-record."

The demon huffed out a breath and nodded knowingly. Yeah, that'd have been a bitch – specially with something human-looking on the loadbed.

"Okay. I'm going to get some stuff. You stay here. On your side," Dean muttered.

Dean Winchester headed back downstairs and gathered the medical case from under the sink, hoping that there'd be all the things he needed. Back upstairs, he prepared saline, syringes, an I.V. port, gauze, bandages, a scalpel and other things which he either laid out on the small nightstand or on the bed. When he was done, he moved with two vials and a syringe in his hands around the bed and climbed on it, so that he was kneeling beside Sam.

The hunter looked up with dazed, half-open eyes behind dark bangs, his face pale and covered in a layer of sweat. Their looks locked over the short distance, the demon's lips twitched and a confusing warmth was spreading in his chest at what seemed to be tentative trust (besides the fever and confusion of course) in the hunter's eyes.

"I'm gonna give you two shots, Sam," his voice was gravely though soft on its edges. "One an antibiotic and ... the second'll be morphine." He eyed the hunter as if to wait for his consent.

"Morphine ..." Sam mumbled and he blinked lazily.

"I'd think it's better if you're out for what I'm going to do. - Might as well wait for the meds to kick in," Dean explained softly.

The air around them suddenly felt heavy and think, almost getting hard to breathe.

"Takin' me under ..." Sam's eyes rolled back into his skull for a moment before they focused back on the demon before him. "... don't. Don't. Not sleepin'."

Dean's forehead creased in confusion and worry, not sure if this was Sam talking or the fever. "It's going to hurt like hell."

Sam blew out a huff. "'m in hell already."

The demon pulled his bottom lip over the upper one and tilted his head to the side. "You sure?"

"Sure." The answer came faster than Dean liked.

"You're going to pass out anyway, hunter. It'd be better this way." Again he waited for a response.

Sam just shook his head.

"Okay. Just the antibiotics?" he asked – to be real sure.

Sam nodded.

With a disapproving noise, Dean laid the vials beside him and turned his upper body around, shielding what he was doing with his back from Sam's view. He wasn't going to cut the stitches open without any pain meds in the hunter. He wasn't that much of a dick. Though, he still deserved to be punished for even thinking about torturing Dean.

What wasn't that important anymore after all?

THAT thought felt REAL weird.

So Dean would do what he thought best. Mixing antibiotics with morphine in one shot wouldn't hurt, would it? At least not as much as giving the man hell while reopening the wound and cleaning it with saline.

Dean turned back around when the syringe was filled with clear liquid and placed it beside him so that he had both hands free to work on Sam's right arm. Tilting up his sleeve and searching for a good vein wasn't something he had done a lot of times so far. He wrapped the tourniquet around Sam's bicep and searched his inner elbow for quite some time before he was sure he had a good one.

Sam didn't even flinch when he poked the needle into him. He rather seemed to relax a bit as soon as the liquid was in him and the needle gone again.

As Dean had thought, the hunter drifted off minutes later. He collected the vials and the syringe and headed back around the bed on the other side, where the other part of his job was waiting for him to be done.

The demon spent a whole hour opening up the wound and cleaning it out, until just clear saline was running down the man's back and wetting the towel on the bed. He gave the wound a last irrigation with antiseptic fluid, before he stitched it – what had to be a rather deep stab wound – halfway up again, so that newly produced pus could run freely out of it and into the bandage with which he covered the wound.

When he was all done and the bed cleaned and all things back in the medical case, he went into the bedroom he occupied at the moment and got the comforter from there, with which he covered the hunter. Before he left the room, Dean checked the man's pulse one last time and headed downstairs.

For a moment he thought it might have been more practical to settle the man in the livingroom, which was by far the warmest room in this house at the moment.

Then again ... Sam was running a fever anyway and too warm wouldn't do his body any good.

Dean thought for a moment as he stood at the door towards the porch and pursed his lips. On the spur of the moment, he turned around and went back down into the basement and fixed the devil's trap there with red spray.

He then hurried back up to get outside and have a look at the hunter's prey. The night's air was damn chilly – which meant that it had to be freaking cold for a human. Not bothering to go back and get a jacket, he headed towards the pick-up which was parked snug against the house's front.

How couldn't he have noticed an emerging car for hell's sake? Then again ... he had been pretty distracted with the black-haired chick on the TV though ...

Not spending any more thoughts about it, Dean wrenched the door from the bed-load down and eyed the messed up heap of tires and tarps. He groaned internally, as he started to throw the tires off the loadbed and then climbed onto it as he had enough space.

Pulling a heap of tarps aside, they revealed a tied up and blindfolded girl, lying in the middle of a devil's trap. Dean pulled a knife from his jeans and scratched the outer circle of the trap off the metal.

"Gotta say ... he's creative ..." Dean muttered and eyed the woman for a long moment. There were several symbols painted on the woman's bare back. High likely to prevent her from smoking out if something would happen to the trap. Her front was still covered in fabric though.

So the hunter liked to save women's dignity. Interesting.

Dean sighed and stepped inside the trap. He grabbed the girl by her short blonde hair, making her face him. He let his eyes flash back and gave her a mischievous smile.

"Guess you can consider yourself lucky that it's me and not the hunter." Dean cocked an eyebrow at her.

She mumbled something through the gag and her eyes flashed black in return.

"Nah. - I won't. Except you're giving me the information I want." With that he let go of her and rose. Dean jumped from the load bed and reached forward to grab her by her ankles, pulling her towards him. He then threw her over his shoulder in a fireman's carry and took her straight to the basement.

_... to be continued_

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER VI**

Dean secured the girl to the chair in the middle of the freshly painted devil's trap. White hot anger and fury sparkled in her blue eyes, when the demon chuckled and checked on the bindings. He tugged on the back of the gag and nodded to himself.

"We don't want you to scream too much, huh? - I've got someone upstairs who needs his beauty-sleep, bitch." He winked at her with a cocky smile and headed back out of the house.

Dean first checked the backseat of the car and found the hunter's duffel. On the inside wasn't what he was actually looking for, so he climbed behind the steering wheel and flipped the glove compartment open. His forest-green eyes lit up, as his gaze fell on three pill bottles. Satisfied with himself, he took them and headed back inside, placing the bottles on the counter in the kitchen as he strode towards the fridge and took one of the beers.

With a sigh, he uncapped it and gulped down half of its content in one smooth go before he put it on the counter beside the pills. He then opened the cupboard above the sink and took the bottle of Gatorade and the pill bottles from the counter, before he headed back upstairs.

Back in Sam's bedroom, he placed the items on the nightstand and eyes the hunter's form warily.

"You've got nerve, boy," he muttered and shook his head. "Suicidal bullshit you're pulling all the damn time. Wonder you're still alive, you know that? - Lucky you you've got me ..." The last words were guarded by a small smile which tugged on the demon's lips.

He looked around the room and scrunched his nose up at the lack of a chair – or any other halfway comfortable place to sit down ... After all he didn't want the hunter to stay alone. Not when he didn't know if he had taken his pills regularly the past three weeks or not.

This wasn't something to play with and he knew it.

_~*DW & SW*~_

Morning-light was shining into the small room.

Dean shifted in the dark-brown recliner and pulled the blanket up over his own shoulders with his free hand, while he held the cup of coffee in his other one. He reached down beside the recliner and picked up the magazine on top of a stack. The demon hummed to himself as he skipped through it, eying the female Asian beauty on the double-poster.

A soft moan was heard, and the demon's attention snapped towards the bed. He blinked tiredly and took a sip from his coffee. The form under the comforter shifted and an uncomfortable groan was heard. Dean flipped the magazine shut and laid it back on top of the stack. He then put the mug down on the floor on the other side of the recliner and straightened up.

"D'n?" It was barely audible in the silence though the demon's attention was gained and he felt himself high awake at the very word.

"Your fever's down a bit," he said calmly and pushed the blanket from himself onto the floor. "The wound looks bad. - Thought I'd have to drive you to the ER." He cocked an eyebrow.

"But you didn't," came back quietly.

"Nope. I didn't. Figured they'd ask too many questions." Dean rose and sniffed as he walked around the bed, sitting down on the right side of it so he faced the hunter. Their gazes locked and the demon felt his forehead, pleased that the fever hadn't grown further. "Didn't find a thermometer ..."

"Don't own one," Sam said, doing everything not to give into the urge and lean into the cool touch.

"You're slightly suicidal, aren't you?" the demon asked then.

Sam's fever-dazed eyes fluttered shut and he chuckled. Sure – a part of him high likely was. A part of him wouldn't be bothered if he died. But there was another part of him that didn't want to die, which fought.

"The demon?" The hunter looked tentative at the man beside him.

"Basement." Dean pulled his hand away and pursed his lips. "Why'd you want to know where Alistair is? Not even I would like to get in contact with him."

Sam cast his look aside, his features turning kind of sad and serious. This wasn't something to share with a probable foe – not to share with anyone out there. It could be used against him. The knowing that he didn't really sleep a lot because he was afraid that some black-eyed bastard was about to torture and abuse him close to every night ...

It weakened him.

Dean eyed him for quite some time, before he gave up. "I know he had you, Sam. For two weeks at least. And I know what Alistair's torture can do to a human – to its soul. I've been there already."

THAT gained the hunter's attention. Something inside his stomach twisted painfully at the thought that this man might know WHAT had happened when he had been with Lucifer's right hand.

His eyes widened in shock and disbelief.

Eventually he gained control back over his mind and swallowed down the rising bile in his throat.

"You were human?" Sam couldn't quite believe it, though he had to ask. After all he knew that demons once were human souls, tortured in hell, but then again ...

Dean grinned cockily. "I once was - SADLY they didn't manage to turn me into a demon completely. Not before I got out."

Sam shifted a bit, so that he was more on his back than his side. "You ... you got OUT? Of Hell?"

The demon chuckled. "Unbelievable, huh?"

"How?"

Dean's face went more serious again and he shrugged. "Not now. So ... You want revenge or something? Because I think – even if one of those idiots told you how to find Alistair, you won't win."

Sam smiled an dishonest smile. "I'll die trying."

Dean couldn't quite believe that someone could possibly think that way. "Why? It's over. You're alive. Why do you have to go up against him? You could have a nice life ... well except for the nightmares and PTSD ..."

Sam caught his gaze. "Why would you care?"

The demon huffed out a breath. "I don't. - I'm just curious. You're throwing your life away."

Sam rolled his eyes and blew out a breath through his nose. "It's my business not yours."

Dean shrugged.

"Fine." He broke his gaze away from the hunter's and rose, clearing his throat.

"Why are you even helping me?" Sam said, before the demon vanished from his line of sight.

The footfalls stopped. "I already told you ..." came the answer a couple of moments later. "... I'm not the monster you think I am ... Black eyes and stuff ... that means nothing."

The hunter let his eyelids drift close again and he sighed. It was hard to think that everything that wasn't quite human, didn't mean any harm to humans. He had been taught different. So different. Those things out in the dark ... those FREAKS ... he hadn't met a single one that hadn't been evil or hadn't hurt anyone so far. OR he hadn't seen it. Seen that they hadn't hurt anyone ...

Sam groaned at the thought.

IF he had truly killed innocent MONSTERS (which was a giant discrepancy from what he had learned and thought so far), he wasn't much better than those who had killed humans. Maybe there were beings out there that had been forced to defend themselves and killed those unlucky humans in the process.

Another thought that made Sam's skull hum with a beginning headache.

So if there was a possibility, that Dean Winchester wasn't the monster Sam thought he had to be, then maybe it wasn't as bad as he thought to think about the demon regularly. Well, he HAD THOUGHT about him a lot in those three weeks. And somewhere deep down he had hoped that Dean was still there. In the house ...

Pathetic. Utterly pathetic.

A guy who had beaten the crap out of him, had ATTEMPTED to rape him ... THAT was no one you should feel drawn to. EVER.

Sam didn't hear the demon coming back. He didn't hear the rattling of crockery, nor the silent curse, when Dean nearly tripped over the ridge of the threshold.

"Breakfast," Dean announced – which made the hunter snap out of his thoughts.

Sam blinked a couple of times and cleared his throat, trying to turn on his back completely. He pretty fast decided that this wasn't a good idea as the new stitches tore on the inflamed skin and made him wince. The hunter heard Dean putting the tray aside and seconds after, Dean appeared in his line of vision again with an extra pillow.

He put the pillow on an empty space on the bed and crawled on it. Sam shot him a quizzical look.

"Not gonna touch you anywhere, hunter," Dean declared calmly, as he hovered over him. So close ... Closer than was good for the both of them.

Sam blinked up at him and took a deep inhale when the man laid one of his hands on his wounded side and the other one on his neck.

"Turn over. Slowly," he muttered and guided the hunter carefully on his back.

Surprisingly it didn't hurt as much as it would have if he had tried on his own.

Sam sighed a breath of relief.

"Good." Dean eyed him for a long moment, before he cleared his throat and broke away from him. "Sit up."

Sam obeyed and the demon stuffed the pillow in between his back and the headboard. Thoughtfully, Dean eyed the outcome satisfied, before he crawled back off the bed and moved around again to place the tray in Sam's lap.

Curiously, the hunter eyed the contents of the plate, the mug with – what looked like – coffee and the glass of orange-juice.

"Scrambled eggs ... Bacon ... hash browns." Dean said tentative and definitely nervous.

Sam eyed the plate some more. It was BIG. He couldn't remember ever buying one in this size. "Well ... it's a lot, Dean." He smiled up at him shyly. "I ... It's too much."

The demon looked a bit disappointed but smiled though. "Not a problem. - I'm gonna finish up what you leave."

Sam's eyebrows creased and his forehead furrowed. "You not hungry?"  
Dean shook his head, but he didn't manage to control his facial expression as good. He looked kinda longing at the plate though. "Had something while I made this up. Besides ... I can't get hungry – not really."  
Sam's frown deepened. He didn't quite believe him ... all of a sudden that man, who stood beside his bed, looked more human to him than demonic.

"We should share. - I won't be able to get the whole thing down anyway." He smiled up at him groggily. "Get a fork. I'm waiting for ya'."

"Sam -" Dean started, but got stopped by the hunter with huge pleading eyes.

"The food's gettin' cold over here," Sam said.

The demon chuckled embarrassed and shook his head. He then exhaled audibly and nodded. "Fine."

Sam followed the man with his gaze out of the room and leaned back against the pile of pillows. Conspiring with the foe wasn't quite what he had planned to do – at least not that soon ... or EVER.

When he heard him coming back, he straightened up and shifted the tray in his lap.

Dean came in with a fork in his hand and a cup of coffee in his other one, a shy smile on his lips and bright green eyes.

"You can sit beside me," Sam said, before this situation could get any more awkward than it already seemed to be. At least the tension that was suddenly overwhelming should be eased a bit by inviting him. Because Sam wasn't going to eat the last pieces of _Dean's_ food.

The demon just nodded and rounded the bed. Eventually he found himself sitting beside the hunter, his back against a part of the pillows, just inches between their shoulders left before they'd touch.

Dean reached for the pill bottle on the tray and took one of the small white pills, which he handed to the compliant hunter.

He watched Sam carefully so he wouldn't miss him taking the pill before actually starting on the breakfast before them.

"You thought about them," Sam stated, sounding surprised.

"Sure." Dean pursed his lips. "Someone's gotta look out for you. - Someone honestly should deprive you of the right of decision before one of your trips goes sideways, boy." He rose both eyes to emphasize his point.

Sam huffed out a breath. "There's no one left to do such a thing." He poked some pieces of eggs on his fork and put it into his mouth.

Dean ignored what he had said and pursed his lips instead at the taste of luke-warm coffee and barely warm bacon.

They sat there in silence, eating their breakfast slowly until nothing was left of it. Sated, Dean leaned back against the headboard and let his eyes flutter close after putting the tray aside. Sam gave him a curious look saying _you're-not-serious-about-thinking-that you-can-stay-here-in-the-same-bed-like-me_.

The demon started to grin at the looks which he could feel bore into his skull. "You know, I could use some sleep."

"Not in my bed," Sam said, wincing as he tried to shift a bit lower.

The demon chuckled. "It's not yours anymore. You left the house and me behind with the purpose of not coming back, so you LITERALLY left this building to me."

"This house ain't yours," Sam corrected him.

"But I got the keys," Dean shot back.

"Out of my bed," Sam demanded.

"Nah, it's comfy over here. - Besides you've my blanket," Dean said, his smirk widening. "I don't wanna freeze."

"You can't freeze. You're a demon. - So OUT," Sam said.

Dean opened his right eye into a thin slit and rose an eyebrow at the man beside him without turning his head around. "Fine. - But I'll be back, you know?"

Sam groaned and laid his hand on his side. Slowly but surely it was getting worse again. The tingly feeling grew into something more stabbing by the passing minute.

"You want a shot or pills?" the demon asked, his features more serious.

"Pills. - Don't want you to mix morphine into the shot again," Sam answered casually.

Dean huffed out a breath. "That's an assumption, you know?"

"It's a fact," the hunter shot back.

"It was in your best interests at that moment," the demon wouldn't let him win this discussion.

"Isn't it in the patient's judgement what's in his best interests and what not?"

Man, that guy was a little shit, wasn't he?

"Not when the patient – besides you aren't one – is a little stubborn shit with a high fever." With that the demon rose from the bed and practically jumped into a standing position. "Painkillers?" he asked as he turned around before leaving the room.

Sam gave him a short nod.

_~*DW & SW*~_

Not mere than three hours later, when Dean was just coming back up from the basement with bloody hands, he heard it ...

First he thought there had to be a wounded dog somewhere outside – at least it had sounded that way. AND it wasn't the first time he heard those noises. Back then, when he had been on lockdown in the basement, he had heard those sounds too. Just more muffled and silent.

But then ... after listening closer ... he realized that it didn't come from outside the house. It came from inside. _Upstairs_.

A realization which made him high alert immediately. This was the hunter. SAM.

No matter how bad he wanted to thump upstairs and burst into the man's room, he didn't. After all he had heard the hunter like this before and it were JUST nightmares. He knew there wasn't anything threatening upstairs. AND he knew he couldn't go up there like this – with blood on his hands and face. He'd mess up the sheets and everything he'd touch. (Why he was thinking about the sheets in the first place was beyond him anyway.)

Dean hurried up to get his hands clean, snatched the two pill bottles from the counter and THEN he thumped upstairs like some panicking girl on the run from some ugly monster. Though he got his shit together before he burst into the room. Dean took a deep breath and exhaled before he pushed the door open (which stood agape anyway) and toed his shoes off before he entered.

Dean eyed the writhing figure beyond the covers, as he snuck up on him. His forehead laid in a deep frown and his eyebrows were pulled together in a tight line – just like the hunter's.

_Nightmare._

Maybe it WAS worse than he had thought ...

Dean cleared his throat loudly, hoping that it'd be enough to wake Samuel Harvelle.

No such luck.

Dean blew out an annoyed breath and grunted. Why did it have to be him? Here? At the very moment? He wasn't someone to get all girly and soft ... he wasn't _made_ for calming someone else.

"Hey!" Dean called out, putting the pill bottles on the nightstand, since it didn't look like Sam would need them. He was just dreaming. "SAM!"

At least it didn't look like he was going to pull his stitches or mess up the bandage on his back. He didn't toss around _that_ bad.

No reaction. - At least not the one he had hoped for.

Minutes passed while the demon stood beside the bed, watching the writhing and moaning man intently.

This couldn't be healthy. No wonder the guy didn't get enough sleep ... no wonder he didn't WANT to sleep, if it was as uncomfortable as it looked. Then again, Dean knew that Alistair wasn't someone who'd lay his captives on rose petals ... After all this guy had been some crazy psychopath when he had been a human. And now he was even worse ...

Somehow he felt SORRY for the hunter. And somehow he felt an urge to make him feel better. Make him get through this.

"Buddy. C'mon. It's time you wake up," Dean leaned forward, gripped Sam's shoulder and shook him gently. One of his fingers brushed over the man's clammy skin and the demon pulled back as if his finger was burned. "Holy shit ..." His frown deepened and glanced at the hunter briefly, before his gaze wandered to his fingers.

There was something _off_ ... about the way this FELT. It was a weird sensation striking him and setting his mind blank for a matter of seconds. Whatever this was, it was dark and bad and actually none of his business. Though, Dean felt the urge to care.

He couldn't put his finger on it yet what it was that felt so off. He just KNEW that something was wrong about the hunter. Maybe it was Sam in general, or the nightmares in particular.

Dean Winchester was going to find out.

He sat down at the edge of the bed and laid his hand back on the man's shoulder. "Sam. Harvelle. - You need to wake up," he repeated firmly and squeezed his shoulder not so gentle. He weighed his options now. If Sam wouldn't wake up by his own, something or someone had to be keeping him in his dreams ... at least temporarily. Which also meant, that he wouldn't be capable of waking him up – not until he was over THIS – whatever it was ...

Of course Dean didn't think for a single moment to crawl into bed behind the hunter and spoon him and stroke his hair. No way. He kept sitting at the edge of the bed, his hand on Sam's shoulder so not to hinder him and injure himself, until the man settled down again and drifted back into a deeper slumber.

_... to be continued_

* * *

  
  


**CHAPTER VII**

Sam could feel a pleasant warmth against the left side of his face and light shining through his closed eyelids. The sun warmed his skin comfortably and it felt good and so very different to the cold raging deep down in his core at the moment.

It made his lips twitch and form into a little smile, as the heat soaked through his skin and warmed the muscles beneath.

The second thing he noticed was a heavy weight resting on top of his calves and warm gusts of air against his exposed right foot. Weird ... he couldn't remember having something lying across his legs ...

His slow mind wouldn't figure it out. Not without seeing _it_. So – no matter how much it sucked – he pried his eyes open and focused on the ceiling for several long seconds. He blinked a couple of times, giving his vision time to focus and get used to the bright light of what had to be the sun at noon.

Sam sniffed and stretched a bit, instantly regretting it when his side protested against the movement. A hiss fell from his lips and a low grunt followed, when he shifted his bottom a bit. Finally deciding to SEE what was restricting the movement of his legs, Sam tilted his head up and directed his blurry gaze towards the end of the bed.

Surprised that he hadn't been freaked out moments earlier by the fact that there HAD to be something with him in the bed – at least not feeling any threat at all – he rose both eyebrows in wonder. The hunter blinked and tilted his head to the side slighty at the picture before him.

"Dean?" he muttered, confused, to himself instead of an attempt to wake the demon, who rested sound asleep at his feet.  
Well, not quite at his feet. Dean's arm was drapped over his calves and his face was close to Sam's partly exposed foot, his nose so close to his big toe that it looked a bit funny. One of the demon's legs was dangling from the bed, the other one bent, so that it had enough space to stay on top of the bed.

It kinda looked adorable. Long dark lashes. Pouty rose lips. And all those damn freckles, spiky dark-blonde hair, tanned skin ...

If it wasn't for the fact that Dean Winchester was a monster and had tried to rape him and if they would've met under more normal circumstances, he so would've hit on that guy. Though, sadly these weren't normal circumstances. This guy was a demon – or whatever and he himself was messed up seven days from sunday.

For Dean's defense – he didn't do _it_. He may have tried to ... but he actually wouldn't touch him like that ... He COULDN'T. Dean Winchester COULDN'T do it – that was the whole point.

"Don't stare at me. That's creepy, Sammy," Dean's lips moved, his voice sleep-rough, and his eyes stayed closed while he talked. A genuine smirk following.

"'m not staring." Sam's voice didn't sound any better.

"Sure you are. I can feel it," the demon shot back, his smirk widening. "Like what you see, Sunshine?" Now his eyes fluttered open and his green eyes peaked out under long lashes, glistening with mischief, as he trained them on the hunter's.

Sam laid his head back on the pillow and huffed out a breath. He desperately hoped that the flush on his cheeks wasn't visible from where Dean was looking at him.

"Don't you have your own bed?" Sam asked after a beat of silence.

The demon cleared his throat, and suddenly the good mood seemed to be gone. "You had a very intense nightmare," he answered rather serious, his eyes dark with something unnameable all of a sudden. "I stayed, so you wouldn't be able to pull your stitches."

Sam blinked, staring at the ceiling. "Don't remember that," his voice was soft and didn't sound honest at all.

Dean could tell. He was smelling lies a hundred miles against the wind. Samuel Harvelle remembered – high likely very vividly. At least the sudden lack of color in his face and his slightly trembling hands foretold him so.

Dean let it drop. Sooner or later he'd know. Either from Sam directly or from someone else he could question about Alistair's activities with a certain hunter. After all it didn't happen that often that this demon let one of his captives go – nearly unharmed as it seemed.

"You sure you're okay?" Dean asked, trying to not sound concerned at all.

Sam's eyes fluttered shut, as he felt his heart beat accelerating and then a pause just to stutter for a moment before it decided to continue its work properly. He reached for his chest and blinked his eyes open again, feeling the weird sensation and slight pull again and his breaths turned into short intakes and exhales.

Dean was on his feet in an instant and was standing beside the nightstand, shaking one of those tiny white pills out of one of the bottles he had carried upstairs before.

"Okay ... okay ...", he muttered, uncapping the bottle of Gatorade, "Take it easy ... just take it easy." He pulled Sam upright in a swift motion and popped the pill into his mouth, following it with the blue liquid the very next moment and made Sam swallow it all. When he pulled the bottle away, Sam gasped and snuck one of his long arms behind Dean, fisting his shirt, holding onto something. _Someone_.

The demon eased himself onto the bed and when he tried to pull away Sam wouldn't let go. Dean sat down so that he was more comfortable in case he had to stay like this for a longer amount of time.

"There you go, Sam," Dean murmured and wrapped his arm – still holding the bottle - around Sam's back to hold him upright. "Stay like that for a moment."

Sam took shaky short inhales, using the demon's shirt as leverage to stay in his current position. Though, he felt his strength fade with the lack of oxygen flooding his arteries and he allowed himself to sink forward against the other body. He felt a second arm coming around his waist and a flat palm resting in between his shoulder blades a moment later.

"It's okay. It's gonna kick in soon," Dean tried to reassure Sam – or himself. He didn't quite know.

Dean would be lying if he thought for even a second that he didn't like feeling the hunter's body against his. He would be lying if he tried to tell himself that he didn't want this. Well, the circumstances weren't optimal, that was for sure, but other than that ... it felt GOOD. REAL good.

Dean was _needed_. He FELT needed. For the first time in a long time, there was someone close to him – closer than he allowed anyone else to be. Physically and emotionally. He had crossed a thin line – one which he had promised himself he'd stay away from.

_~*DW & SW*~_

It took about fifteen minutes, until Sam's breaths found their rhythm again – as well as his heart. The hunter's body was still slumped heavily against the demon's and Sam's face was buried in the older man's shoulder.

"Better?" Dean asked after some time.

Sam nodded into his neck, slowly untangling his fingers from the shirt. "Yeah."

Dean pursed his lips, then he sucked in his upper one and pulled the lower over it. "So ... you think you can lie back again?" It was tentative and hesitant.

Sam nodded into his shoulder again, but didn't make any signs that he was going to back off. So Dean stayed as he was too. "I ... I don't think she knows anything."

Sam's eyes snapped open. "You talked to her? What did she say?"

The demon huffed out a breath. "Nothing important. - Nothing that'd help you find Alistair anyway." He knew he should feel bad about lying ... But he couldn't bring himself to care about that right now. Sam'd take off as soon as he'd feel halfway up to it again and he couldn't let him do that. He'd DIE, dammit. Sam wouldn't even get a scratch on Alistair before he'd drop dead.

Whatever it was that was spurring the hunter on it had to wait a bit longer – a little bit _much_ longer.

Sam huffed out a frustrated breath. "I know that she knows something. She just isn't telling you. I'm gonna make her."

Dean chuckled. "Yeah, sure, Sensei."

Now Sam was pulling back and came to a rest on his elbows, searching the demon's face with big eyes. Dean's gaze caught on hazel green ones, sparkling in a million colorful shades which made it impossible to tell which color they truly were. At least not when the sunlight was catching them like this.

"I can do it," Sam demanded and as if to prove his word, he pulled his legs up and turned on his right side, swallowing a grunt at the strain in his side.

"Dude. No." Dean's hand was on the hunter's chest and he pushed him back down. "No way. I'm so not gonna carry you back upstairs, gigantor. You're way too heavy for that shit."

Sam groaned in disapproval. Though, maybe the demon was right anyway. He didn't feel like walking around except for visiting the bathroom and he sure as hell didn't feel like he'd be able to get downstairs and into the basement and back up into the bedroom. At least not today or tomorrow ... or the day after.

Lucky him, he wasn't in the hands of some stir crazy demon-asshole. The thought almost made him laugh.

So Sam let himself be pushed back – without protesting – and groaned.

"Good. Now that that's settled ..." Dean cleared his throat. "I'd suggest you rest some more and I'll bring you lunch in an hour or so ..." he sounded hesitant as the wheels in his head started to turn frantically. Lunch sounded perfect ... but from what food? All he had left were peanut crackers and some cheese balls ... maybe even western style chips and gummy bears.

He hadn't thought about staying here any longer before. Three weeks had to have been enough time to lay low and let things outside settle down again. So yeah ... he should've been on the road _hours_ ago by now.

He made a noise that was in between an annoyed moan and a thoughtful humm. "I think lunch's gonna take some time. Gotta head into town and get some supplies." Now Dean looked back at the hunter, who seemed to think about what he was telling him. Then the younger man cocked an eyebrow as if he had figured it out.

"Yeah. We don't have anything in the damn house except for junk food, okay? Sue me. I'm a demon. I don't need all this healthy human stuff that tastes like shit," he babbled, pissed off as he rose and eyed the half-empty bottle of Gatorade on the nightstand. He then looked back at Sam with a demanding look. "When I'm back I want to see this bottle empty," he pointed at the bottle as he talked. "Won't take longer than two hours tops."

The hunter shrugged. "Didn't say anything, did I?" He called after the demon as he walked towards the door.

Dean's eyes narrowed, a glint of suspicion in them as he stared at the door opposite of Sam's room. "Yeah, but you damn well thought something. Your mind's way too loud," he called back.

Sam couldn't hide an amused grin forming on his lips and the spark of humor in his vivid circles. He could nearly forget about the fact that Dean Winchester wasn't human at all.

_~*DW & SW*~_

Dean changed the dresses on Sam's side that night after dinner. He took care that the hunter took the painkillers and his antibiotics to the meal. After short – but amusing – banter, the demon headed back down into the living room where he watched some TV before he went back up to get some rest for himself.

It didn't take long until he got woken by a bloodcurdling cry. Needless to say whose it was. Of course it was Samuel Harvelle who was about to rob a good night's rest from the demon once more.

Like the following couple of nights.

Those nights ... there was nothing but the piercing, horrified yells that ripped from the hunter's throat multiple times. And there was nothing Dean could do to wake him, or comfort him. Nothing seemed to work. No stroking his head, no rubbing his back. Hell, not even spooning the shit out of that giant Sasquatch. He had held him so tight against himself, that it was hard for himself to breathe, let alone for the hunter.

Dean was pretty sure that this wasn't something natural. Humans were able to get woken up while they slept or while they dreamed. But Sam didn't. So he was sure it had to be something supernatural, something that wasn't capable to be explained with logic.

After another night, Dean didn't bother to leave the hunter's bed anymore. He wouldn't even bother to let go of the hunter and get to the end of the bed, so that it didn't look as if they were cuddling.

During those days, they became something more than hunter and prey and vice versa. It felt a bit like a friendship – even after this short amount of time. It was ridiculous, how fast the both of them seemed to just FIT together. Like puzzle pieces . Like it wasn't unnatural for a hunter and a monster to exist side by side without ripping their throats out.

What Dean wondered was, why Sam hadn't once mentioned the basement, or the demon itself. He seemed surprisingly content and somehow satisfied for the moment – not that Dean was complaining. Something just felt weird about it.

Or maybe, just maybe, Sam had decided to regain his strength before risking his own life all over again. If that was even possible for him, could it be?

_~*DW & SW*~_

Sam was sitting on the couch and stared blankly into the TV after another rough night, when Dean came in from the kitchen and sat down beside him with a plate and four sandwiches on it.

Since they were running out of groceries again, there was just peanut butter and jelly left in their kitchen – except for two cartons of eggs and an already nasty looking meatloaf.

The hunter inched aside, making some more space for the demon, but continued to stare at the TV with a can of light coke in hands.

That was, until Dean reached for the remote and turned BBC Documentary off and earned a pissed _Hey_ from the hunter.

"We need to talk," Dean stated calmly, as he watched him from the corners of his eyes. "About your nightmares." He leaned back a bit to see how the hunter would react to it.

Well, he did react in the way he had imagined: Shutting down and pulling up a bullet-proof steel-curtain around his mind. He could practically SEE it.

Sam cleared his throat and pressed his lips together, avoiding looking at Dean in general. "There's nothing to talk about," he murmured quietly and cast his look into his lap. The hunter's features turned utterly sad ... as if someone had killed his little puppy dog.

"Sure there is," Dean demanded, this time when he spoke his features where softer, as was his voice. "I know you don't wanna talk about it ... but you're going to have to - It's going to kill you, you know? That, or you'll go insane." He trained his gaze at Sam, feeling him shrink under his attention.

There was silence.

Dean continued to stare at the hunter. Of course he figured this wasn't going to be easy. He knew Sam was terrified of talking about it. Because as soon as you'd talk about something very very personal, something you'd never told anyone else yet, it'd turn into something terrifyingly _real_.

After a long episode of silence, Dean spoke up again: " _Sammy_ , whatever it is ... you gotta tell me. Maybe I can help you ... somehow."

The corners of Sam's lips tugged upwards and he suddenly looked kind of embarrassed. Then he shook his head. "No one can help me, Dean." He blinked and looked up at him, using all his strength to do so. "It's going to stop when he's dead, or when I'm dead. That's how it goes. So I'm going to find him and I'm going to hunt him down ... Or I'll dy trying."

"You already said that!" Dean snapped, his flat palm landing on the coffee table with a loud bang. As fast as the outburst had come it was gone again. Dean cleared his throat and closed his eyes for a short moment. "Look, I-"

"No. You don't have to, okay? I have to do this by myself." Sam's eyes looked watery when he blinked tears away and his smile widened a bit. Though, it was a sad, knowing smile ...

"You're exhausted. Each day you wake up, you feel even more tired." It was a fact, and Dean knew it, but he had to say it out loud. Maybe then Sam would understand how self-destructive he was acting. "Look, I'm not one who does chick flicks, okay?"

Sam glanced at him and gave him a look. Dena glared back.

"But this is getting ridiculous," Dean continued.

The hunter leaned forward and took one of the sandwiches. "Can we eat now? I'm starving ..."

That was the moment, in which Dean made a decision he hoped he wouldn't regret afterwards. If Sam wasn't going to let Dean help, he had to leave him to his luck.

_~*DW & SW*~_

The conversation from earlier with Sam telling Dean what his nightmares were about, had left the hunter's mind absent for the rest of the day. He was staring into space, no matter if the TV was on or not and he seemed to feel highly uncomfortable around the demon. He didn't even eat dinner that evening.

Sam went upstairs earlier than usual and skipped their TV session and some _we-time_ , making Dean uneasy. Though it wouldn't change what he had planned.

He gave the hunter ten minutes alone in the bedroom, before he entered too as if it was the most normal thing ever.

Sam already lay in bed, covered by the comforter up to his shoulders, hands under it and followed Dean's path to the other side of the bed with his gaze, an expression of pure confusion written all over his face. On his way, Dean switched the lights off, so that just the one on Sam's side-table was on.

He stripped off his jeans and button-down shirt and crawled under the comforter at the other side of the bed. With a content sigh, he eased into the mattress and pillow and crossed his arms behind his head and stole a glance at Sam before he looked back at the ceiling.

"You're ... you are ... gonna sleep here?" Sam asked with raised eyebrows.

The demon shrugged. "Sure. - I've been sleeping in the same bed with you since about a week, Sammy. Ain't nothing new. So, figured, if I've to come over anyway I could crawl in with you right now." He watched Sam from the corners of his eyes while he spoke. "My shins and toes would be grateful for not getting bumped for a night though."

Sam could tell this wasn't quite the reason, but he also didn't find a reason to _not_ let Dean sleep in the same room ... well, bed ... with him. The demon was right, it high likely wouldn't be any different from before. Except for Dean not having to get up in the middle of the night and stumble into his room.

"Sounds logical," Sam muttered, turning his head so that he was facing the demon. He wanted to tell him that he didn't have to come over, that he didn't need to try to make him feel better – or safer.

But it felt nice to not be alone ... Specially after waking after his explicit nightmares with a warm body beside him and arms wrapped around his waist or a hand buried in his hair.

Actually he should be freaking out, he thought, when he woke after a specific dream with Alistair, all spooned up and with arms around him. Oddly enough, it made him feel better – actually it made him feel safe.

"You're thinkin' too hard again." Dean turned over, so that his back was looking towards Sam. "Turn off the light, would you?"

Sam huffed out a breath. "What if I'd like to read something?"

"Didn't see you with a book yet. - Now shut up and turn off the lights," the demon shot back with a yawn.

Sam did as he was told and turned the lights off. "Yes, Sir." He grinned mischievously.

The hunter stole a glance at the back of Dean's head and smiled softly. He would've preferred to be closer to him, or at least to see his face. Sam wanted to touch the man, feel him, to have reassurance that this was really happening. That there truly was someone who made him feel a bit better despite what he was going through each night. A part of him was even afraid of leaving this house, going on the hunt for Alistair.

He couldn't put his finger on WHY exactly. Maybe because if he'd leave he'd die and if he'd die he wouldn't see the Winchester again. Maybe Dean was someone he liked to be around, someone he couldn't leave behind like this. Not without knowing how it would feel if there could be MORE between the two of them.

So yeah, maybe he was wrong and maybe this was all in his mind ...

Dean let his breaths even out, his eyes wide open though, staring through the window and watching the clouds stroll by the half full moon. He could tell that Sam wasn't asleep yet, though he was close.

He just needed to wait ...

_... to be continued_

* * *

**CHAPTER VIII**

Sam shifted and rolled over on his side in his sleep, so that he was facing the demon who lay beside him, watching the hunter for quite some time now. The ghost of a smile crept over Dean's features and his eyes lit up for a short moment, when he inched a bit closer and laid his hand on Sam's hip on top of the comforter.

Sam mumbled something incoherent, when the mattress dipped and Dean inched further towards him, until they were mere inches apart. The demon inhaled deeply and closed his eyes as he laid his forehead against Sam's. His hand moved up the hunter's flank, over his bicep and shoulder, until it came to a halt covering the hunter's cheek, temple and a part of his ear. Dean's lips parted slightly and a stream of black smoke made its way into Sam's mouth. It wasn't much. Just a tiny bit to connect with the hunter and by far not enough to possess him or hurt him in any possible way.

He withstood the possibility of glimpsing his memories, but he wanted to see what he was dreaming about – who he was dreaming about in particular and why something felt off each time he touched Sam during one of his nightmares.

So here he was, waiting for the show to get on the road.

He wasn't disappointed. It didn't take long at all.

It all started on a field. Dean found himself standing in the middle of it. The sky was dark with grey and black clouds and it was unnaturally bright for the fact that there was just the moon above him and no sun. As he looked around, he caught a glimpse of something beside him from the corner of his eye.

The tall hunter was standing there, his clothes torn and dirty. From what Dean could tell, it smelled and looked like old blood. Rusty red ... Though Sam seemed unharmed – at least for the moment.

There was a sudden gust of cool wind and Sam turned his head towards Dean and he shook his head.

"Why do you have to do this?" Sam asked with pleading big eyes. "Why did you come?"

The wind increased and there was thunder rolling and lightning going down in the distance.

Dean looked over at him and mirrored his sad expression. "Because I think that these nightmares ... something's wrong about them. I can't wake you when you dream and you should be able to wake up - I'm here to figure out what's going on with you, so that I can help you." _... and I pray you won't remember me here ..._

"I didn't ask for your help," Sam said calmly.

Dean blinked once, twice, and the hunter's clothes seemed to fix themselves. Ripped fabric folded together and turned back into the shape and color, without stains of rusty red and dark brown. Two more blinks, and their surroundings started to change drastically. The field beyond their feet – the weeds seemed to get pulled into the ground - disappeared and all that was left was gravel and a giant grey building before them.

One without windows ... and just one door. The building looked like some kind of military bunker. The wind subsided and it got warm within seconds – then the warmth started to increase steadily and it turned hot, until it felt like the air itself was about to catch fire.

Dean huffed out a breath. This was so much like hell. It felt like hell – it WAS hell. Maybe not the surroundings he knew, but this ... this had to be the picture of hell Alistair had created for the hunter.

The door to the building swung open slowly and Sam made a determined step forward, but Dean wrapped his fingers around Sam's wrist to stop him.

"What are you doing? Where do you think you're going?" Dean asked angrily. "Don't tell me you're going in there."

Sam sighed and looked back over his shoulder at the demon. "I have to- Either I go in there on my own or he'll _make_ me. It's worse if he comes to get me, Dean." Now he smiled with a sad smile and took a deep breath. "You shouldn't be here. Please go. No one should have to see this. Please. Don't follow me."

Dean eventually let go of Sam's wrist with a worried frown. "Sammy," he murmured to himself as he saw the hunter walk towards the building. As much as he wanted to respect Sam's plea to not follow him ... he couldn't. It wouldn't do any good anyway. Sam was hurting and he could tell that in there nothing good was going to happen. And the more time passed and the more time Dean spent here, the more something nagged at his mind that this was more of a curse or spellwork than REAL dreams.

Alistair WAS here, in Sam's mind, but the question was HOW. He wasn't in the same room and just inches away from the hunter like Dean. The spell or whatever this was had to work over a far distance.

It was then, when he heard the first muffled scream, that he decided that he wouldn't just stand here and wait. He took off in a sprint and when he entered the building the door behind him slammed shut and locked itself audibly. Dean looked around and found himself in a long broad corridor. He knew the cobblestones under his feet too well, the dim light, the smell of rotten-burned meat and pleading screams for help.

All the things that guarded someone on its way towards the dungeons ... Dean _knew_. Because he's been there. He'd picked the souls behind those doors to his left and right to torture them, use his knife on them – for _decades_.

Though, he doubted that Alistair wanted to make Sam torture someone else. Or he did just that and didn't want to talk about it because of the fact that he had _tortured_ other human beings. A fact a hunter wouldn't be able to deal with that easy.

Either way. Dean had to find out by himself. He came to a crossing and stood before the choice to go left or right, since straight ahead of him was just a wall ...

_A wall._

A mischievous grin formed on the demon's lips, as he stepped closer to it and extended his arm, laying his hands on the cool bricks. He blinked and his eyes morphed into the darkest of black ever seen. Dean's lips moved, words so fast not the best lipreader could make them out, fell from them.

"Scilicet!" Dean called out in a demanding manner.

The bricks swam and revealed a door before him. Satisfied with himself, he pushed the gate open and walked through it. There was a short narrow corridor with another door at the end.

He heard clinking sounds and muffled pained moans. The closer he came to the door, the more intense the feeling grew that this wasn't a normal dream. This was serious spellwork radiating from the door before him. Something that would keep Sam right there with Alistair ... Something that allowed the demon to bind the hunter's mind to his for whatever amount of time he wanted.

Dean huffed out a breath. This was high likely worse than any other kind of torture Alistair ever bestowed upon a human. Letting the hunter know that he'd be HIS until his last breath, every time he allowed himself to sleep ...

Only thing was: The hunter was Dean's now and he didn't like to share.

Hell, someone had to call himself lucky if Dean shared his whiskey.

The demon rolled his shoulders and took a couple of deep breaths. Dean then made a step backwards and rolled his shoulders again, wiggled with his hips to loosen his muscles, while his face turned into a mask of white hot fury.

With a kick he pushed the door open. Not giving anyone in the room time to adjust, he stepped over the threshold and right into a scene that could've been taken out of a _Criminal Minds_ episode.

His gaze moved instantly towards the only beings on its inside.

One strapped down on a table, the other one standing beside it with some weird looking tool in his right hand. The man's eyes flashed white within a blink and his head whipped towards the intruder.

Sam was already too out of it to realize that Dean had followed him inside and was standing there, staring at him and his captor.

"Dean," the man said, his eyes changing back into the icy blue they originally had. He wiped with his free hand over his reddish beard and sucked in a breath between gritted teeth, making a weird sound. "What an honor to see you here."

Dean's eyes narrowed at the tool in his hands and then he looked to where blood was dripping from the table onto the ground, forming a small pool. Sam lay sprawled out and strapped down on the table, his legs spread so that nothing stayed hidden.

So it obviously wasn't "just" this kind of torture – which explained a lot about the hunter's behaviour.

"You came to join in the fun? - It's been a while, Winchester." Alistair grinned and tilted his head to the side.

Dean didn't answer right away – not verbally. Instead there was something bright white and bluish crawling over his pitch-black eyes and his exposed skin started to gleam in exactly the same color.

Alistair's eyes widened and the tool slid from his fingers as he backed away from the hunter.

"I came to protect what's mine, bitch," Dean growled, his face set in hard lines.

Alistair seemed to have found his composure again, because he smirked slyly. "I don't think you can hinder me on getting to your lill' boy toy," he sing sang and made an attempt to come closer to the table again.

But Dean made a step forward, his skin gleaming brighter.

"This is MY world, Winchester." the demon hissed.

"That's where you're wrong," Dean answered lightly and made a step forward. "You might cast the spell and did the ritual ... or WHATEVER. But this's not yours. Nor is it mine. It's the hunter's. And if you're clever you'll back off."

Alistair threw his head back and burst out into full body laughter. "You gonna make me?" he grinned, looking back at Dean, challenging.

"I WILL make you," he shot back.

"You can't keep me away, and you know it. You might be able to do this ONCE, maybe twice ... but at some point you'll be too weak to pull off one of your stunts. And then – my dear boy – Sammy over here's going to pay the price." There was no doubt that Alistair meant what he said. He would make Sam pay. And he was also right about Dean. The Winchester wouldn't be able to keep this up on a regular basis. Maybe if he had trained and used his abilities –But he hadn't. He had pushed them down and locked them away.

"That'll do it, Ali. - You're not coming back here after tonight." It wasn't a threat. It was a promise. "Not ever," he added after a moment.

"Guess we'll see about that, boy." Alistair smirked and took another step back from the table.

Dean smirked back at him as the gleaming increased, walking slowly up beside Sam at the other side of the table. As much as he wanted to check him over right then (despite that he knew that this was JUST a dream), he kept his eyes locked on Alistair.

Then everything happened too fast. Alistair threw his left hand up and extended it towards Dean.

The sound of fabric getting ripped echoed through the dungeon and all of a sudden there were two mighty dark-grey-silvery wings coming up behind Dean as he bowed over the barely conscious hunter to cover his head with his chest.

Visibly flabbergasted that Alistair hadn't the force he obviously thought he had over the winged demon, his eyes widened in shock as the dazzling light streamed from him. Giant wings spread around the wounded man on the table to shield him from whatever would happen next.

The brightness flooded the room and there was a distant screech heard.

_~*DW & SW*~_

The sky was clear and the full moon bright. Millions of stars were visible on the night's sky. Ashen flakes were floating through the air and raining down slowly, getting caught in the weeds of the golden field and grey wings.

Dean breaths were even and calm. Though, the muscles in his back were strained, holding the weight of his wings. Gentle wind was rustling through the feathers. He had his eyes open, his face buried in Sam's hair, his arms wrapped around the man's naked form. Dean pulled back a bit, but his hands and wings remained in place when he caught Sam's gaze.

The hunter's watery eyes were half-open, his breaths short puffs of air as if it hurt to breathe. Well, it had to hurt ... those wounds HAD TO hurt.

A single flake of ash slowly made it's way down and settled on Sam's forehead. The winged demon let go fo Sam's hip and brushed the flake from him carefully.

"You gotta wake up, Sammy," Dean whispered softly. "It won't hurt there, okay? I promise. I promise you won't be hurting anymore as soon as you wake up." He tried to smile but failed miserably.

The hunter gave him a shaky nod and swallowed thickly. "When ... when I wake up .." he murmured, searching the demon's face, "... you'll still be there ... won't you?"

Dean chuckled nervously. "Of course I will." He brushed over Sam's cheeks and jaw. "Now close your eyes. It's like falling asleep, kiddo." He rested his hand on the hunter's cheek and bowed down, placing a soft kiss on his forehead. "I'm going to wait for you ..."

Dean waited until the hunter's eyes fluttered shut and the body in his arms started to dissolve into thin air before he closed his eyes and withdrew from the hunter's mind as fast as possible.

It just took a moment for Dean to find himself back in his right mind and his eyes snapped open. Dilated pupils shrunk back to their normal size. He was still holding Sam's head with one hand and his forehead still rested against the other man's.

"Sammy," he breathed and brushed with his thumb over the hunter's cheekbone.

There was movement under his eyelids before they fluttered open. Instinctively, Sam wanted to draw his legs up, but the demon's were in the way.

Despite the chaos of his thoughts, the most recent and urgent were, that Dean had been in his dreams, in his head and that Alistair would make him pay the next time he'd fall asleep.

"C'mon," Dean pushed an arm under Sam and wrapped the other one around his waist to draw him closer until their bodies were flush against each other's. "We're going to figure it out, okay? I'm going to help you." He paused with a sigh. "Tomorrow morning we're going to dig up some books and the web and we'll find the spell or whatever he used." He tugged the taller man's head under his chin and Sam let him. "I'm so sorry, Sammy. All I wanted to do back then was to scare you off ... I didn't know ... I ..."

The demon heard the hunter sniff, followed by a choked sob. "You were an ass," he muttered.

Dean cocked an eyebrow at the mop of hair beyond him. "I wouldn't say it like that ... I had vengeful intentions towards you."

"Nicely said, jerk." Sam chuckled.

"I know I'm awesome, Bitch," Dean shot back and laid his hand at the back of Sam's head to keep him right there with him.

Sam allowed him to keep him that way. If anything he nuzzled his face into the man's shirt, wiping off salty tears on it.

Dean didn't mind. He threw one of his legs over Sam's to allow him to pull them up more and he pulled the comforter over the both of them, so that just their heads were lurking out on top of it.

"I promise, you hear me?" Dean whispered when he felt the hunter erupt in a full body tremble in his arms, "He won't get to you ever again. EVER again. We're going to figure out how to break the spell and then we're going to hunt him down." _I'M going to hunt him down_ , was what Dean actually wanted to say.

He felt Sam's arm shift and wrap around his ribcage. A comfortable warmth spread inside the demon and not that kind of physical warmth at all. It reached deeper, it went further. It felt like having a purpose, something to hold on. Something that was worth leaving things behind and starting new ones. It felt FUNDAMENTAL.

Samuel Harvelle was anchoring him in this world, in this place. And that felt utterly pleasant and good and beautiful and all the things he couldn't allow himself to think.

For the first time in a lifetime – literally – he wanted to _stay_ somewhere with _someone_.

Sam couldn't believe how pathetic he had to look. Cowering under the blankets, practically wrapped around another being for comfort and shelter and the need to feel safe. And he felt safe. Though he wasn't sure yet if that was a good thing or a bad one.

The fact that he felt safer now than ever in his life before with the demonic being right beside him scared him a bit. It felt like finding a partner all over again. Someone to rely on, to lean on. Someone he could LIKE (because LOVE was too big thing to think about).

Sure, Dean Winchester had been a dick back then. He had tied him down to the bed, he had gotten to him. The scars on his wrist wouldn't fade – ever. These scars on his ankles and wrists would stay until the day he'd die.

_~*DW & SW*~_

The hunter fought sleep for another hour, before he was too exhausted and lulled in to keep his eyes open anymore. If it wouldn't have been for Dean he probably wouldn't have closed an eye again.

The demon shifted until he was high up the pillow and Sam's head rested against his chest, making him listen to his heartbeat.

The morning after seemed rather embarrassing. At least on Sam's side. When he woke and felt himself pressed against Dean's body, arms around him, warm brushes of air against the top of his head.

"You should sleep some more, Sammy," Dean mumbled soothingly. The _you're gonna need it_ stayed unsaid, but Sam sure seemed to catch those unspoken words somehow.

Sam felt awake enough to get up – well not exactly. It was more the shower which was calling to him. He used to shower every morning after nights like this. Not exactly the nights anyways, more because of his dreams.

"'m good." Sam said hoarsely and started to unfold his arms from the other man. "I'm gonna grab a shower."

Dean pulled back too now and let go of the hunter, though hesitantly. "Good - Leave me some hot water." He rolled on his back and stretched while Sam fought to get out of bed and onto his feet.

Dean watched Sam grab the small dark-brown bottle from which he took one of the small white pills out and padded over to the bathroom. Dean's lips pursed and he tilted his head to the side while watching the hunter's hips swing lazily from side to side. He could get used to a view like this one. All messed up sleep-hair, loose shirt, plaid loose pyjama bottoms ... and those _hips_. THAT ASS. If that wasn't worth a sin or maybe two.

Sam breathed out a shuddering breath as he stood before the mirror above the sink and stared at himself. "What are you doing?" he asked himself hoarsely, "He could be playing you ..." Nope, he didn't really believe that, but he also could be fooled. If not ... Well, then he was fucking up someone else's existence ...

Shaking his head at himself, he laid the small white pill on the curve of the sink and took a deep inhale of air. He hoped that the demon in his bed hadn't lied to him, that he'd help him to get rid of the nightmares and Alistair in general. He dearly hoped that he wasn't alone anymore in this and that there'd be someone out there who could finally help. TRULY help.

Sam cast his look down and stared at the toothbrush and the paste for a long time as if it was something special, before he brought himself to take it, brush his teeth and get under the shower.

. _... to be continued_


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER IX**

Dean laid in the bed on his back and stared at the ceiling above him, listening to the sounds coming out of the bathroom. His gaze flickered towards the pill bottle on the nightstand and the half full glass of water.

Maybe it was normal for Sam to spend that much time in there after a rough night ... or maybe he felt awkward around him now that Dean knew what was going on inside of him – what had happened to him. Maybe Dean shouldn't have gone into the dream like that. Maybe he should've been hid, checked things out and disappeared as soon as he knew what was going on in those freakish dreams.

But nope. He had decided to show himself, let Sam know that he wasn't alone, that there was someone who wanted to help him. And maybe that would make everything awkward and hard from now on. Even when Dean didn't feel like it, he assumed that the hunter might not take it as given as he did.

It was about half an hour later that he finally heard the shower turn on, and Dean decided to get up and prepare breakfast. Though, before that he had to do something else – something more important. So he hurried up to get into his own room, where he dressed in a fresh set of clothes and his jacket and headed downstairs and out of the house onto the porch, from where he took a sharp turn around the house.

He glanced back up at the second floor where Sam's room was, before he vanished behind some trees so that he'd be out of hearing range and sight if the hunter decided to open the window, or get on the porch and look for him.

Dean pulled a tiny leather bag from the inside of his jacket and a Zippo from the front pocket of his jeans and set it on fire.

"Castiel!" he called out, when he let the bag fall to the frozen ground before his feet.

It was one of those hex-bags he kept for emergencies. It was a mix of different herbs and items which would _force_ Castiel to come. It was made as something like an SOS Call for the angel to know that Dean was in giant trouble and that he had to be where he was RIGHT THE FUCK NOW.

Dean figured it was one of those moments.

They didn't have a lot of time for figuring out what kind of spell or curse was laid on Sam and bound him to Alistair – or vice versa. Okay, Dean could possibly pull the stunt from last night two more times, maybe three, but then it'd be impossible for him to get enough power together again. - At least for a week.

Dean didn't want to give the demon any more chances to harm Sam. Nor taking revenge on the human because Dean hadn't been able to wait and overthink things and had to burst into the guy's session like that – including frying him with his god-given mojo.

He was a man who kept his promises and he knew he'd need help with this one.

There was the fluttering of wings and when the demon turned around towards the house, Castiel stood before him, just about a yard away and stared at him with giant ocean-blue eyes. He held his angel-sword in his left hand and another one in his right, obviously ready to jump in the fight.

"Whoa, tiger," Dean rose both hands and showed him his palms in surrender. "It's not that kind of emergency."

The angel's features relaxed slightly and he let the blades disappear in his sleeve again. "Does not look like an emergency either."

"It's about the hunter," Dean spat out with a serious gaze. "There's a spell or something messing with him. - We need to undo it ..."

The angel cocked both eyebrows. "And you need me to ...?"

"I need you to check out what kind of spell it is. We'd take too long to figure it out and it'll get worse. - Alistair knows that I know and he's not gonna back off now," Dean explained calmly. "If anything he's going to make it harder on the hunter."

Castiel looked a bit pensive, but he nodded. "I see. He's in the house I suppose?"

Before Dean could answer, there was the rustling of wings and the angel was gone, short followed by an high pitched cry from inside the house which definitely belonged to the hunter.

Dean's mind didn't need to process what probably had happened. His instincts kicked in right away and he burst into a run through the branches and underwood, so that he was back in the house in no time. He thumped up the stairs, not caring that the door was wide open and that he let the cold air in. Running down the corridor and taking a sharp turn into the hunter's bedroom he heard the familiar low voice of the angel and the hunter's adrenaline-heavy one even before he could see the both of them.

He stopped abruptly one step after he crossed the threshold as his gaze caught both men. The trench-coat-wearing one was backed up against the wall an angel-blade at his throat, while the one with the towel didn't seem to be in an any better stance, even when he was the one backing Castiel up.

Both men held their blades in an iron grip against each other's throats.

"Please tell your friend that I did not intend to harm him in any way," Castiel spoke calmly, not breaking eye contact with Sam.

Sam's anxious gaze flickered towards the demon and back at the intruder, the knuckles of his hands white, his face drawn in tight lines.

"Who's this?" the hunter hissed through gritted teeth. His gaze flickered towards Dean again. "You called one of your friends to fuck with me?"

Dean rose both hands, panting. "Sam. No." He took a deep breath. "It's nothing like that, okay?" He could see hurt and disbelief on the hunter's face and in his eyes "He's a friend. - He's ... he's just clueless about how humans prefer their dignity and not getting their personal space invaded."

Sam didn't seem to believe it. There was a visible struggle going on in his mind between letting go and holding onto the blade.

"Dean is right. - I am an angel of the lord," Castiel explained and slowly eased the blade from the hunter's throat and let it fall to the floor with a clang. "I am not supposed to hurt any human being ... well ... except if the human being is in the way of the mission-"

"CAS!" Dean ground out before the angel could mess up this situation even more. "Not helping here, okay?" After all there was still an angel-blade pressed against his throat, something the angel seemed to have forgotten about.

"Sam," the demon spoke with reassurance in his voice, "Put the blade down. - It's okay. I called him. He can help. Castiel's not here to hurt anyone. I called him to help YOU."

For a moment it seemed like something like defeat was crossing the man's features and his hold on the blade seemed to ease, so did the grip on the angel's shoulder with which he was holding him against the wall. Sam searched the man's face for a long moment, then his gaze wandered to Dean for a split moment.

There was a buttload of disappointment and hurt mixed with anger in the hunter's face – that much was clear. Though, Dean couldn't figure out WHY ... It wasn't like he had called the angel for ...

Okay, for someone who didn't know that this huge baby in a trench coat was actually an angel and here to help it might look weird. And if he was in Sam's place, he wouldn't trust the strange guy too, who miraculously popped up on him way too close and Sam just wearing a towel ... Not to mention his history of possible betrayals and his time with a certain dickhead of a demon.

The muscles in Sam's back seemed to relax and the hard lines of his face grew softer until he was able to let go of the angel and backed a step off.

Though, Sam kept the blade and wouldn't drop it nor did he think about giving it back.

"Cas. - Why don't you give us a minute?" Dean offered and stared at the angel intently, "Just ... wait in the kitchen, would you?"

The angel looked over at the demon and gave him a short nod. Then there was the fluttering noise of wings again and he was gone – including the angel-blade he had dropped before.

"I probably should've told you," Dean started and took a step towards the hunter, who didn't move.

"Angel, huh?" he asked instead of giving into the demon's attempt to explain. Sam wouldn't look at him. He stared on the floor, his hair dripping wet and the blade clutched in his hand.

Dean Winchester nodded guiltily. "Yeah." He swallowed. "I'm sorry ... look ... I didn't plan on it happening that way, okay? First I wanted to talk to him and then talk to you ... and ... then he was gone ..." Dean's words were dripping with guilt and the need to explain himself. "He has no clue what personal space means."

Sam huffed out a breath, an unreadable expression on his face. "Popping up an inch in front of a guy who's just wearing a towel ain't clever." He blinked at him as he turned his head a bit to see Dean standing there, in the middle of the room. "I could've killed him."

Well, Dean wouldn't want to break it to the hunter, but Castiel wasn't that easy to be killed. Sure, Sam had the blade, but Cas could've zapped himself somewhere else if he really wanted to. He had actually been more worried about Sam's wellbeing, since the angel was a fighter too and in an act of self-defence, he could've hurt him badly ...

"Or he could've killed me ..." Sam seemed to think out loud, his expression pensive.

"Hey ... I'm gonna prepare breakfast ... and check on Cas ... when you're ... you're you know ... dressed and so ... come downstairs okay?" Dean knew he was stuttering and didn't make a lot of sense right the fuck now. He also knew that Sam wouldn't give him the angel-blade, so he didn't even ask for it.

"Yeah ..." Sam breathed and looked back at the wall before him. "Be down in ten."

With a nod Dean disappeared, leaving the hunter to his business and found Castiel right where he had told him to be. Cas stood in the middle of the kitchen and eyed the dishes from last night curiously as if he had never seen such a mess before.

Dean sighed when he entered the room. "You know ... I already told you about personal space, dude. You can't just pop in on a man who's naked."

Castiel hummed low in his throat, when he slowly looked over at Dean. "He was wearing a towel. I did not figure that it would be a problem at all. After all I am an angel and don't share the same sense for dignity ..." Big blue eyes were staring innocently at the demon.

He chuckled and shook his head, blowing out an amused breath. "I don't think you'll get the blade back ..."

Castiel nodded. "A blade like this one is not supposed to stay in human's hands," he stated with lack of emotion – maybe with a bit of confusion in his face but not in his voice.

"You popped in on him. And he was naked, Cas!" Dean pointed out again and before the angel could open his mouth to protest he rose his hand and cast his look down. "Nope. Don't want to hear it. Towel or no towel. Next time just ... knock and wait outside the door or something ... He doesn't even know you, Cas. You're a stranger to him."

"You know me. And you trust me." Again big blue eyes eyed the demon quizzical. "I'm an angel. Humans tend to pray to me, not to prey me."

"Yeah. - He's a hunter. Everything that pops up before him out of nowhere is a monster, so I doubt he was expecting an angel to visit him." He sighed and looked up again to meet the angel's eyes. "Anyway ..."

"You LIKE him," it sounded confused and surprised at the same time. "You care about him a lot."

"Thanks, Cas. - So not the time to talk about THAT," Dean waved at him and walked past him, towards the fridge.

"Why him?" he asked then.

The demon huffed out another breath and gathered eggs, milk, butter, sugar and flour on the counter while he seemed to think about the question. When he bowed down to get a pan out of the cupboard under the fridge, Dean answered with a question himself: "Why would you wanna know?"

Castiel turned around and eyed the demon's behaviour closer. "You are embarrassed. Is it common to be embarrassed when you are in love with another person? Or is it because he is a hunter?"

"CAS." Dean said warningly. "I'm not _in love_ with him.", he murmured to himself – as if he could make himself believe that. "We became _friends_." _... nothing more._ "He needs someone." ... _I need him._

The angel looked even more confused now than a minute before and his mouth had the perfect shape of an "o". Either the demon was lying, or being human was truly one of the curious things upon earth.

The demon got a red plastic bowl from under the counter and a whisk from a drawer and started to mix up the butter, eggs, sugar and flour. Besides the beating of the whisk against the wall of the bowl, nothing was heard.

The angel had taken a seat at the table and watched the demon doing his thing. Sometimes he was a bit jealous of humanity. After all they were able to TASTE, to FEEL ... simply everything. It wasn't like he wasn't incapable of tasting or feeling things – it was just different from what his vessel – Jimmy – remembered. Everything was moved into perspective ... and sometimes he wondered why Jimmy Novak had given up his life to become a vessel for an angel ...

Dean was heating up the pan, when footfalls were heard from the staircase. Short after Sam came around the corner into the kitchen and stopped shortly as he spotted the angel at the table. He stared at the blue-eyed man for several long seconds before he fixed Dean's skull with his gaze.

"Sit down. We need to talk," Dean said without turning around and flipping a pancake on the plate beside the stove. "Cas's gonna explain what he's gonna do ... he's gonna figure out how to get rid of the spell – or whatever."

Sam pursed his lips and seemed to think for quite some time about what Dean had said. He then eyed the angel warily, before he sat down on the chair on the opposite side of Castiel.

"An Angel?" Sam asked the man curiously, "Of the lord? Honestly?" It was understandable that he didn't trust the stranger instantly. He could be anything. Shapeshifter, vampire – though those creatures weren't capable of teleporting.

Castiel gave him a sharp nod. His face open like a book.

"Prove it." Sam leaned back and his eyes narrowed. "Where are your wings?" His gaze flickered towards Dean, thinking about what he had thought he'd seen in his dream. Dean Winchester with wings and blinding light surrounding him ...

"My wings are invisible to human's eyes." Castiel answered honestly.

"Why don't you knock things over with them if they're just _invisible_?" he kept on questioning the angel's existence.

"Some psychics can see them – or rather sense them. My wings exist on a different level of existence," the angel staid weirdly calm – too calm for Sam's liking, because Sam was boiling on the inside with white-hot anger and rage.

"How come I've never come across one of your kind out there?"Sam carried on, his words sharp at the edges.

"We are not meant to walk the earth among humanity. Only in rare cases we get sent here. Either because it is to guard someone special or to interfere whenever it is needed," the angel answered.

"What about prayers? Do you hear them?" Sam asked a bit calmer. The guy was high likely a good little soldier, following his daddy's orders. So yeah, there was actually something more pathetic out there than he himself.

"Yes. We can hear them," he said, this time a bit nervous, it seemed.

"Never got answers to my prayers. EVER. Where have you been?" The hunter's expression was cold and calculating, as if he was waiting for the angel to say or do something wrong.

"We are not supposed to answer the human's prayers either." Castiel cleared his throat. "I can not prove being an angel. I think you have to trust Dean's word when it comes to my person."

"You zap into other men's bathrooms often?" Sam wouldn't stop – he couldn't. This guy was a dick. What meant they weren't supposed to answer prayers? Who the fuck were they? People were believing in them. HE had been believing in them. He had prayed every damn single fucking night for those dickheads to come and save him. To fucking help him!

"Dean told me to check on you, so I figured it would be the best thing if I did it immediately." He spoke as if it wasn't something unnatural at all.

Sam huffed out a breath and shook his head in disbelieve. "You're one great bag of dicks. You and your retarded family." he hissed angrily and stood up, shoving the chair back and the table a bit forward, making sure to knock it into the angel's ribs. "Humans are calling for help, and you won't come. But a freaking black-eyes is calling you once and you're _here_. Within seconds. You may think that you're an Angel, but you sure as hell don't act as one!"

Sam was out of the kitchen and the house, before Dean could even register what was going on.

So when he turned around to make the arguing stop, all he saw was a flash of Sam's plaid shirt and heard the front-door slam shut.

Dean stood there with the spatula in one hand and the pan in the other one, his mouth open to tell Sam to shut up and listen what they had to say, but his words died somewhere between his brain and mouth and the house fell silent.

Castiel turned around and faced the demon, his expression shocked. Actually _shocked_. Something he had never seen on the angel's face before. Sure that dude could smirk and smile and look awkward, but he sure as hell never had this look on his face.

"I think he does not like me, Dean," Castiel stated bluntly.

"He didn't like me at first either," was all he could utter at the moment, stunned by his own calmness and the sudden lack of noise except for the sizzling of the pancake in his pan. "But I think I kinda grew on him ..." Dean put the spatula and the pan on the counter and made his way towards the living room, when a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Your hunter looked upset," Castiel stated, "We should give him time." He paused and caught the demon's gaze who looked back over his shoulder at him.

Dean gave him an incredulous look and the angel shrugged. "You once told me, that sometimes humans need space and ... to let out steam ... before they can think straight again," he pointed out with risen eyebrows.

"You're right. He'll come back." Dean pursed his lips. Of course he would. After all the hunter hadn't anywhere else to go and his cure was waiting for him HERE. Dean was waiting for him HERE. So he resisted the urge to go after him.

Castiel decided to stay until the hunter would come back.

Dean finished the pancakes and put them into the microwave, where he glanced at the clock.

"I'm gonna take a quick shower," he informed his angel-friend, who hadn't left his place at the table yet. "When he gets back I'm gonna talk to him."

Castiel gave him a sharp nod when Dean walked past him and disappeared upstairs. Giving the hunter some more time seemed legit. Though ... it didn't feel right. Okay, Sam had all rights to be upset and in a bad mood.

He had a shitty night. Had an angel zap in on him and had learned that they weren't as fluffy and cute as he had thought they would be. After all the hunter still had to learn that there was more than monsters and ghosts between heaven and hell and that the good things weren't as good as they were supposed to be.

Dean rubbed over his face as he entered the bathroom and switched the light on. He snapped the fly of his jeans open and was about to pull the zipper down, when his gaze landed on something small and white on the blue bathroom floor. His eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Dena didn't know what made him look closer, or why his look had even been caught on the tiny thing ... but as soon as he realized what he was looking at, his eyes widened and he pulled the zipper back up. Not giving a damn about anything else right now, he stormed into the bedroom and snatched the pill bottle from the nightstand. On his way down the stairs, he fumbled with the fly of his jeans to get it closed again, clutching the bottle in his left hand all the while.

"Cas!" he called out as he grabbed the jacket from the banister.

The angel appeared in the doorway, staring at the demon curiously.

"It's Sam. - We gotta find him." Dean burst out and ripped the front-door open. "Before it's too late."

Either it was the panic or the sheer horror in his friend's voice and face, which made him understand the urgency without uttering a question about the whys and hows and was on his side in a matter of seconds.

_... to be continued_

_._

* * *

**CHAPTER X**

They stood on the porch.

Dean was staring out in the driveway with a strained expression on his face, obviously trying to figure out which way Sam had taken. Then he felt Castiel's hand on his shoulder. He blinked and found himself surrounded by woods.

"He's already on his way back to the house," Castiel stated and let go of the demon's shoulder. "About hundred feet away, heading towards us," he shared a look with his friend. "I do suppose that it will not be of an advantage if your hunter saw you with me."

Dean gave him a sharp nod and a thump between the angel's shoulder blades before he took off in a jog.

"Sam!" he called out, fisting the bottle of pills in the pocket of his jacket.

There was cracking branches and the rustling of fabric and a faint " _Dean_."

The demon caught the breathlessness in the voice and picked up on the pain in it. He didn't need to see what the problem was. That idiot had forgotten to take his pill in the morning – obviously – and Dean hadn't thought about checking if he had swallowed one of those.

Somehow he felt a bit guilty, even when he knew that the hunter was a grown man and that he could take care of himself. It wasn't like Sam wasn't capable of it. It was just the situation they found themselves in that made some things easy to forget. Specially after a night and a morning like this.

Dean couldn't blame Sam nor himself for it.

The very next moment, Sam appeared behind a couple of high withered bushes before him, stumbling along a narrow path towards him. Dean stopped for a moment and then jogged forward, jumping over a fallen tree on his way.

"Dude!" he called out when he reached the hunter and his fingers instantly found their way to his neck, feeling for his pulse which would tell him if his heart was messing around again. He cupped Sam's face with his free hand and made him look him in the eyes.

He wasn't surprised to find the pulse unsteady and his breathing short and ragged.

"You're a stubborn idiot, you know that?" Dean asked with a huff and let go of his neck to fumble in his pocket for the pills.

Chucking out one of them and pushing it past Sam's lips, he kept his other hand on Sam's face.

"Swallow," he ordered.

Sam obeyed of course.

He had totally forgotten about the pill on the sink as soon as he had entered the shower stall this morning. It was stupid, yeah. Forgetting something that was necessary to survive was beyond stupid. And then going out without taking the pills with him had been even more stupid, since he knew that a pill in the morning didn't guarantee that his heart wouldn't try anything idiotic.

So here he was, once again at the mercy of the guy he had tortured weeks ago ... He was depending on him. For the first time in a damn long time he was depending on someone else with his life ... his _soul_.

"Thanks," Sam murmured, trying to catch his breath.

"We're going back inside and you're fucking listening to Cas." Dean said, sounding utterly pissed as he slung the other man's arm around his neck to help him walk without tripping over something. "We're going to have breakfast and then you're going to get your ass back to bed and stay there," he continued to bark out orders.

A few feet ahead stood the man in the trench coat waiting for the both of them to catch up.

Sam wouldn't look at him. He was too embarrassed and felt beyond pathetic. The hunter couldn't believe that his life – his SANITY – depended on those men. Some sort of angelic demon and an angel ... He who hunted supernatural beings had to rely on just those.

Castiel walked behind them the whole way back to the house. When they finally arrived, he outran them and opened the front-door for the men to let them in. Dean let Sam sit down in the kitchen at one of the chairs at the table and gestured Castiel to do the same before he sat down too.

"So. How are we going to do this?" he asked addressing Castiel with a look.

The angel cleared his throat, staring at the hunter. "I'm going to have a look at Samuel. Then I can tell more about the circumstances. Though it would be preferable if he would lie down for it. It is going to be unpleasant and he high likely will be exhausted."

Sam's gaze flickered up at the angel and then towards Dean. "I won't sleep. - There is no way I will sleep." He locked his gaze with Dean's.

The demon looked back at him understanding. "Can you do that?" he asked Castiel, "Putting up some barrier or something so he won't dream?"

The angel looked pensively for a long moment before he nodded. "I think I can do that."

"How long is the barrier going to last?" Sam asked, looking at the angel sternly.

"I can provide it for about four hours tops, depending on how the bond to Alistair works," he answered immediately.

Sam shared a look with Dean then. Dean shared a look with Castiel.

"Okay. - So breakfast first." The demon rose with a sigh and walked over to the microwave to switch it on and put the timer on. While the microwave's sounds echoed through the house, he got three plates, forks and knives and carried them over to the table. Next he went to get the pancakes on the table and butter and syrup from the fridge.

When they sat at the table together again, Sam gave Dean a hesitant look. Dean gave a reassuring one back anyway and even smiled a little.

Castiel watched their wordless conversation before he cleared his throat. "You know I do not need to consume food to stay healthy," he pointed out, "I am a celestial being."

The demon gave him a glare. "I don't care. Eat and shut up." Then he looked at Sam who was still a bit pale. "You too, or I'll force-feed it to you."

Then they ate until there were no pancakes left anymore and everyone's appetite seemed sated with the empty plates.

"Where should we do it?" Sam asked after a swig of coffee, his gaze darting forth and back in between the beings before him.

"I suggest you lie down on a mostly flat surface," the angel suggested and emptied his cup of coffee. "... and try to relax."

The hunter nodded to himself and cast his look down thoughtfully. "Okay ... I'm waitin' upstairs then ..." he muttered and rose, obviously unsteady on his feet. Dean was about to jump up and give him a helping hand, but Sam rose his flat palm to show him that he could handle himself and that he prefered not to be touched at the moment.

Dean didn't sit back down. He waited until he heard Sam's footfalls on the upper floor before he turned over to face Cas. "Can you make it last longer?" he asked softly.

"What?" The angel stared at him shell-shocked for a moment.

"Take him out, let him fall asleep or however you name it. - Without letting him dream or something ... you know ..." Dean explained hastily.

The angel thought for a long moment. "That would not be necessary."

"It is. I've a demon in the basement who's close to spilling its guts. With Sam around I can't go down there. So ... if you can make it last for a couple of hours longer ... let him sleep as long as it is possible for him without dreaming I'd be grateful." he looked at him meaningfully to emphasize his words.

"I do understand what you mean, Dean. But ... I do not think that he will be pleased when he finds out," Castiel said with honest concern.

"He won't find out. - And IF he does it'll be too late anyway." Castiel didn't know that it was even possible to pull eyebrows that wide up on someone's forehead.

"Too late?" the angel repeated curiously. "For what?"

"For him to figure out the demon knew a way to summon Alistair and bring him wherever I want him. - All that's left is his true name," he explained, keeping his voice low so no one but the angel would hear it.

Castiel's face darkened at this. "What is your plan?"

"Summoning the bastard and taking him out. I'M taking him out, NOT Sam. He'd die trying and I can't let him do that," he answered, determination written all over his face. "I can't."

Castiel nodded. "I can help you with that."

Dean chuckled shyly. "I know you can." He cleared his throat. "But ... I'm going to need you somewhere else then ..." He cast his look down and then back up.

"I'm WAITING!",they heard the hunter call from upstairs.

"We will talk about this," Castiel mirrored Dean's expression from earlier to underline his words. "You are my friend. I do not want you to do something stupid."

_~*DW & SW*~_

So there he was, covers thrown back, lying flat on his back on the bed. He let his hands rest on his stomach and tried to push away the uneasy feeling the longer he was alone in the room. The hunter wondered if this was okay – if he should let himself be helped ... mostly he was thinking if it was okay about the way this was supposed to happen.

He was flat out terrified of drifting off to sleep after whatever the angel was about to do. At least Dean would be there with him. _Would he?_

Before his doubts could possibly start to grow, Castiel came through the open door with his usual blank expression and walked up beside the bed. Sam's gaze flickered back and forth between the angel and the door since he couldn't see Dean coming with him. A fact that stirred the uneasiness in his guts and made them twist painfully.

"Where's Dean?" Sam asked warily, propping himself up on his elbows and eyed the angel.

"He will come in a minute he said," the trenchcoat-wearing man answered. Castiel sat down beside Sam and the hunter inched away instinctively.

The angel ignored his gesture though. "Sam," he said.

It was an awkward tension between the both of them, nearly palpable as it flooded the room.

"Dean likes you," the angel stared at him.

The hunter looked away shyly, trying to force the rising heat in his face to vanish. But it only increased.

"You do not have to be embarrassed." Yep, the angel knew how to make things even worse. "He is my friend. And you are his friend. I will not do anything that will hurt you, because it would hurt Dean." He paused. "It is legitimate that you do not trust me. It is also legitimate to feel mad about angels I suppose. I ... WE ... lost the ability to serve humanity a long time ago. Sadly. We are used to tending to our own business."

Sam listened with big eyes, trying to figure out why the angel told him that.

"What I want to say is. We do not know freedom as humanity knows it. Though, Dean Winchester taught me a few things about life on earth and ... I am willing to learn." Castiel tilted his head to the side and watched the human intently. "From all of you, not just from Dean. That is why ... I need to ask you something before Dean will join us in a few seconds."

Sam's gaze wandered to the door and back at Castiel. He gave him a hesitant nod.

"Why did you stay with Dean Winchester after you healed up enough to leave?"

Sam stared at the angel flabbergasted and the muscles in his jaw and lips worked, unable to form an answer in his mind.

There was nothing but a giant question mark hovering above his head right now. He had no clue how to answer his question. Hell, he didn't even know himself why he had stayed in the first place. He could be in the basement already and interrogating that bitch throughly so he would get the answers he was longing for.

"I ... I don't know ... It's a weird question ... I think I -", that was as far as he got before there were heavy footfalls and Dean came in and Sam's mouth snapped shut.

The demon stopped in his tracks and his look darted forth and back between his angel-friend and his hunter- _whatever_. The both men were staring at him and a foreign silence filled the room.

He instantly sensed that they had been talking about something ... something weird, since Sam's face was flushed in a dark red.

"We ready?" he asked and cleared his throat as he walked over to the bed in a slower pace than he had entered the room.

Sam gave him a short nod and looked away fast.

Castiel nodded too before he looked back down at Sam. The corners of the angel's lips were twitching and pulling upwards slighty – like a light smile or something.

"This might become unpleasant, but I can assure you that it won't hurt, Samuel," Castiel's face was open and honest and he seemed relaxed and sure about what he was going to do – so yeah, Sam decided to trust the man – for now.

"What do I do?" Dean asked as he sat down ont he other side of the bed and eyed Sam sympathetically.

"You can not do anything, Dean," the angel answered.

Sam's gaze locked with Dean's over the short distance. There was worry and insecurity in the demon's eyes all of a sudden, as if he wasn't sure anymore if this was a good idea. And maybe it wasn't. Then again ... the angel knew what he was doing, right?

Sam looked over at him as he lay back against the pillow. "You've done this before, right?" he asked curiously, searching the angel's face.

Castiel nodded but said: "Not with a human. But I read about it."

And that was all Sam got before he felt the angel's hand on his solar plexus, pushing him gently into the mattress. Castiel was right. It felt off and weird and almost as if something was starting to worm around in his insides.

The hunter turned his head away from the angel, who closed his eyes now, to Dean and bore a small smile for the concerned looking man.

"You're doing good, Sammy," Dean tried to support him, when the hunter's face became stressed and scrunched up in distress and discomfort seconds later. "It's over in a moment, 'kay?"

Sam gave him a strained smile and a sloppy nod, trying to reassure the demon that he was okay, like the demon tried to reassure him that everything was fine.

Though the unpleasant sensation increased further and started to edge into pain, and caused a muffled moan.

Dean looked over at his angel-friend whose face laid in lines of effort and something Dean didn't like at all. It was as if Castiel was observing something interesting with his inner eye – and the creases on his forehead started to deepen as if he needed to concentrate more ... The man's breathing sped up slightly and for a short moment he thought he saw PAIN. Physical pain on the Angel's face. The muscles in his friend's jaw and neck worked weirdly frantic and his eyebrows knitted together tightly.

A groan ripped his attention back to Sam, who stared with wide eyes back at him, his breathes coming out in short puffs and there was a thin layer of sweat building on his forehead. Not to mention the draining color of his face and the fading rose color of his lips.

"Dean," he murmured, fisting the sheets. It sounded somehow strangled ... as if something was constricting his airways or he was hurting.

"Cas?" Dean asked, sharp edges of honest worry on his face. "CAS?" he asked louder for a second time, when he saw the hunter's eyes start to water and his breathes became raged.

There was no response, and the expression on Castiel's face told Dean that this wasn't how it was supposed to go down.

Another groan and a choked off gasp fell from the hunter's lips as he threw his right hand up at his chest and dug with his nails into the fabric there.

"Cas. - You gotta stop!" Dean called out, getting on his knees beside the hunter and his friend, one hand already on the angel's shoulder to pull him back if he wouldn't listen.

Sam sucked in a wheezing breath and his body lifted from the mattress, his head pushed back into the pillow.

"Damn it! Stop!" Dean cried out and yanked on the angel's shoulder.

Castiel's hand pulled back abruptly, his eyes snapped open and he backed off from the bed, crawling backwards until his back hit the wall. He was panting, heaving in breaths and pushing them out with so much force it made Dean cringe on the inside. His eyes were blown wide and his face a mask of pure shock and horror.

The hunter's body collapsed back onto the mattress the very moment Castiel let go of him. Sam's eyes rolled back in their sockets and his eyelids fluttered closed. His hand let go of his chest and fell limply to his side as all strength left him.

Dean stared at the hunter's face, his bluish lips ... the lack of movement that indicated that he wasn't breathing anymore ...

It had been quite some time since he'd even tried CPR on anyone, so it took him a long moment before he realized what had to be done in order to get the hunter back from whatever had been happening seconds before.

All in all it had looked like one of those fits he'd had before – just a lot faster and more intensive.

Dean jumped up from the bed and pulled the hunter down onto the floor where he had a hard surface to work on.

He felt for the man's pulse ... he tried to make it out for a damn long moment. Usually he knew where to look, but this was different. Dean was frantic, he was in a panic. Hell, he had never ever been in full blown panic mode like this before.

There was a faint thud against his pointing finger. Though, for the first moment he wasn't sure if he felt his own heartbeat or the hunter's ...

Not losing any more time, Dean tilted the man's head back, clamped his nose shut and pushed his jaw down before he sealed his lips over the hunter's and breathed a lung full of air into him.

The man's cheeks hollowed out and his chest seemed to move a fraction of an inch but nothing more. Again, he pushed a lung full of oxygen into the younger man's lungs before he filled his own once with much needed air.

"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon!" Dean called out, his voice wrecked and begging and dripping with unnamed emotions he probably hadn't ever felt before. "Don't you fucking dare!" he ground out between gritted teeth and attacked the man's mouth with another load of air.

Again he waited, panting, hoping that Sam decided to continue to breathe on his own. Seconds stretched like minutes, while he sealed his lips over the hunter's over and over again, in an attempt to save the hunter's life ... and his own.

_... to be continued_

  
  


**CHAPTER XI**

It was a weak attempt of breathing in oxygen to fill his lungs ... and it sounded wheezy and strangled. But he managed it.

The hunter's chest rose slightly.

Dean kneeled beside him, heels digging into his denim-clad butt as he watched with heaving breaths the hunter's chest and the slowly disappearing blue from his lips. Color creeped back into his face and pushed away the ash-grey and white.

"Fuck," Dean breathed out, wiping with the back of his hand over his mouth. "Fucking shit." He had no clue how long he had tried to get Sam back, but damn it, it felt like MINUTES. Long minutes.

"Holy fucking shit," Dean muttered and shook his head, his face at least as pale as the white of the walls surrounding him. "Way too close." He had to shake his head again.

Dean sat back on his butt and patted the hunter on the shoulder. "Way to go, Sammy. Way to go. - You know how to screw everything up ..." He huffed out a breath in disbelief. How big was the chance to die from an angel checking you for spells?

Okay ... there was no one to answer that ... high likely, but honestly? What where the chances of this?

After taking a few minutes to regain control over his body back properly and catch his breath, Dean picked the hunter up and settled him back on the bed. After a moment of making sure that he was still breathing, he pulled a blanket over him and gave the angel a glare.

Castiel could not not see the anger and obvious question on his friend's face: _How could that happen?_

The angel still sat on the floor, leaning against the wall and was obviously trying to figure out himself what had happened and what he had seen. He looked a bit lost and pale and also utterly confused as if he wasn't able to put the pieces together just yet.

"What the fuck, Cas?" Dean mouthed at him, his eyebrows pulled together tightly.

"It's ... it's a spell ..." His voice was thin, as if he just yet realized himself what was going on. Castiel looked aside as if he had lost something around here. "And something ... something else ..."

Dean sat down at the edge of the bed and frowned at his friend.

"I ... I need to go ..." the angel stuttered, staring into nothing in particular under the bed. "I ... I'll be back tonight ... then I can tell you more."

"Wait!" Dean called out, already sensing that Castiel was about to flutter away and leave him with nothing but a ' _see you later'_.

There was the rustling of wings.

"Damn it," he hissed angrily and guided his gaze back to the hunter. "I hate angels." No he didn't. At least he didn't hate Castiel – well, except for some times anyway.

_~*DW & SW*~_

Dean didn't intend to leave Sam's side after what had happened. Damn the basement and the damn fucking demon down there. No way in hell was he leaving him. He had to figure out another way to get a chance to go downstairs. Maybe he should tell the hunter anyway, put it out in the open. Telling him that he knew that there was no way to track Alistair down, but that there was a way to get him right where he wanted him. Here, or behind the house, in a barn – Who cared where?  
All that mattered was that the place where they'd summon the demon was secured and safe ...

He continued to watch Sam breathe, watching more and more color returning to his skin and soft looking lips. So soft looking lips it had to be a sin to touch them.

Dean bit down on his lower lip longingly, not withstanding the urge of brushing a strand of hair out of the hunter's face and tugging it behind his ear. Ridiculously silky hair. His hand stayed on Sam's cheek for a long moment before he pulled it back with a sigh.

Castiel said he'd be back tonight.

So they had to wait. HE had to wait ... Whatever it was that made the angel practically FLEE, he must've had good reasons. Dean hoped so anyway, otherwise he was going to scream bloody murder and kill that guy – well not literally.

As time flew by agonizingly slow, without Sam waking up, he laid down beside the hunter, propped up on an elbow on his side and watched him. Thin lips slightly agape, tender looking eyelids and long lashes fluttering from time to time but settling down again after seconds.

Dean started to wonder if any damage had been done to that skull of his – after all there had been NO OXYGEN pumping through his blood and into his brain and all the other organs in fact for god knew how long.

Then again ... maybe he was just skittish because ... just _because_.

As more time passed, Dean inched closer to Sam's side until he ended up with one arm thrown across the man's middle and his face so close to Sam's that he could smell the cheap apple-shampoo on him.

Did men even use that kind of crap? Wasn't there something more ... LESS feminine? Then again ... the scent somehow matched the hunter's odor just perfectly, so maybe it wasn't peculiar of him to use this brand instead of _Axe_ or _Head and Shoulders_. Not that Sam would need to use _Head and Shoulders_ anyway.

On the bright side, it'd definitely make Dean the guy in this relationship since he used only masculine shampoo and shower gel.

Dean exhaled a long breath against the man's neck and he laid his head back onto the pillow. Shifting his arm slightly, so that his flat palm was resting on the hunter's blanket-covered belly he let his eyelids drift close for a moment, relishing in the feeling of feeling Sam's even breaths when his chest rose and fell slowly.

"You're he're ..." It was soft and slow and _slurred_.

Dean's eyes snapped open and he propped back up on his elbow. "Hey there." He smiled a bit, letting the relief of hearing Sam speak mirror in his voice. When nothing came back and just the ghost of a smile was seen on the hunter's lips, he continued: "You scared the crap outa me ... and Cas."

Sam made a soft sound, keeping his eyes closed. He felt exhausted. Utterly, completely exhausted as if he had been swimming the whole day and now lay as he had dropped on the shore, his limps feeling heavy and overstrained from the exertion.

There was a faint ache in his chest when he sucked in a breath and a relaxed humming sound was heard when he exhaled again.

"Wha' happen'd?" he spoke slowly, trying to make sense of it all and make his vocal cords obey, but it was no use.

"You had one of your ... you know ... _fits_ or whatever you call those attacks," Dean explained calmly, not wanting to upset the hunter in any way and trigger another one. Two of them within a couple of hours were definitely enough. "You ... you stopped breathing," the last words were a whisper and barely hearable, but Sam seemed to catch them since his expression darkened and the corners of his curled up slips slowly turned downwards.

"How're you feelin'?" he answered, keeping his voice low as if talking too loud would get him kicked out of the room.

Sam's hand under the blanket shifted and the demon could see the effort it took to get his hand over Dean's which covered his stomach. The hunter's huge palm blanketed his hand completely and a shiver coursed down the demon's spine when he felt soft fingertips ghost over the back of his hand.

"'hausted," Sam answered with his next exhale. "Aches."

Dean's forehead creased instantly in worry as he saw the hunter's brows knit and pull together. "What hurts?" he asked then.

Sam drew in another breath and his lips moved with the next exhale, but no sound came out. With the next intake of air, he curled his long fingers around Dean's palm and held it loosely.

He tried again, but his vocal cords failed all over again.

Dean's hand moved slowly but steady up to Sam's solar plexus, keeping his eyes on the hunter's face, seeing the muscles in the man's face work as he slowly made his way upwards towards his chest. Resting his hand right above the hunter's heart, he saw the man giving him a shaky nod.

"Did it ever feel like this before?" he wanted to know and nearly feared what he could get as an answer.

Sam shook his head.

"You want something for the pain?" Dean asked, his voice small and hesitant. He wished Castiel was there ... telling him what had happened...

Sam shook his head, then his lips moved again and he thought he could read the words " _not bad_ " on them. Dean made an attempt to pull his hand away from the hunter's chest, since he started to feel awkward, with his ring-finger over the hard bud that had to be Sam's nipple but the hunter tightened his grip on it.

Sure it wasn't strong enough to hold Dean's calloused hand in place and if he wanted he could pull it away, but he didn't. Sam wanted it to stay, so yeah, it'd stay. Further than that – he took it as an invitation to be allowed to touch him. So the demon shifted again and freed the arm he was leaning on, so that he could brush over Sam's forehead and his hair.

Sam hummed again and his features relaxed slightly. It felt good. So good. The demon's hands weren't soft, but they felt special. They felt as if they were made for this – for touching him, comforting him.

Sam couldn't care less at the moment. He was too tired to feel pathetic or awkward or however he' would if his mind wasn't caught in a haze of exhaustion right now.

It tickled a bit and sparked on his skin and scalp but that was okay. He needed this. For the first time in a damn long time he allowed himself to let someone else touch him like this, to let himself feel safe and sheltered.

A cocky grin grew slowly onto the demon's face as he watched Sam melt into the touch and the mattress as if he was becoming one with his surroundings, with HIM. Dean inched closer until their bodies touched and he leaned his chin on the hunter's shoulder as he settled in at his side.

For once, he didn't tell him to try to sleep or to rest or something like that. To be honest, Dean was perfectly fine with the fact that Sam was awake enough to feel him doing this – of taking care of him. He hadn't taken care of someone like this since he came out of hell.

It felt good, so damn good. It made him all warm and cozy and it felt just perfect – it was FINE.

Sam made a noise or two under the demon's ministrations until he seemed to drift off to unconsciousness again with a faint smile on his lips.

_~*DW & SW*~_

Dean went downstairs an hour later, when he thought that Sam wouldn't wake soon again. It was already late afternoon and his need for coffee grew unbearable, so he switched on the coffee maker and leaned against the counter beside it, waiting for the liquid gold to seep through the filter.

He threw glances at the door to the basement, which he could see from where he was leaning and let his mind drift forth and back between going downstairs to interrogate the demon further and the need to stay on the ground-floor in case Sam called for him or came downstairs.

Dean didn't want to be NOT there if the hunter did, so he decided to stay where he was and wait for his angel-friend to show up.

Once the coffee was done he emptied the cup in a matter of minutes and a second one followed ... and then a third.

It wasn't a question of WHY he felt the need to free the hunter from the bonds to Alistair, neither could he name these weird feelings towards the man upstairs.

He KNEW what he wanted and he wanted _everything_ and he'd be damned if Sam's actions didn't mean something similar.  
Samuel Harvelle was HIS and HIS alone, no one elses. Not that he had ever felt _that_ possessive over something in his life – not that he could possibly remember. It was ... different. It felt different. Sure, he LOVED his baby – a car – Black metal and wires and leather and it belonged to him. Him alone. But the love for his car felt different to what he felt about Sam. If something would happen to her, he'd build her up again, like he did once or twice already. Building her up from the ground where it lay in a heap of steel and plastic and iron.

But Sam? He wouldn't be able to repair him if something destroyed him. Dead was dead and then there'd be heaven or hell waiting for him – for his soul and Dean doubted that he'd ever see him again if he'd die because there was no way he'd go to heaven once HE died.

So yeah ... Dean Winchester knew what to do after the spell – or whatever caused this – would be broken. He'd kill that son of a bitch and he'd make damn sure that Sam was miles away from where it would happen.

_~*DW & SW*~_

The sun went down behind tall trees, when Dean sat at the kitchen table and mused over a plan to make Sam stay where he was and how he was going to try to kill Alistair while the hunter was distracted. Well, he practically KNEW how to kill that demon. It would take just one of his creepy bright outbursts right beside that sucker, but he also wanted to make him suffer. It wasn't just about getting him out of the way – it was also about revenge. Even when these things had happened long before he had met the hunter under weird circumstances, he NEEDED it.

He NEEDED to kill like he needed air to breathe – and he hadn't had a good kill in months. It made the boiling rage deep inside of him protest and claw and tear on its bindings like crazy.

A fact Sam didn't have to know – not yet at least.

So far he had always directed his rage and anger at beings or people that deserved it – of whom HE THOUGHT they deserved it.

Rustling feathers tore through his thoughts and Dean snapped back into reality the very moment something big and heavy landed before him on the table with a loud thud and made the table vibrate with the impact.

His gaze slowly focused on a big brown leather bag, before he looked up at the trenchcoat-wearing man beside it.

Castiel stared at him determined and serious, his lips in a tight line. He even seemed to be a bit pissed and angry – but not that kind of pissed and angry that was directed at Dean. And the demon knew it – he could feel it.

"Cas? he asked and leaned back in the chair, "What's that?"

"Stuff," the angel snapped and stepped right in front of the table and the bag and unzipped it. He then took it and turned it upside down, so that it's ingredients landed noisily on the table, scattering all over it.

Dried herbs, a brass-bowl, dagger, vials with STUFF ... and other things.

"We need to talk before we do this," Castiel said. He sounded serious and his voice was matter of factly, but there were deep lines of concern on his face. "You were right. It is a spell. But there is something else and it is not good."

Dean picked something up that looked like a burnt fragment of what once was a bone. "Black magic? Really? Cas?" He cocked an eyebrow at the angel and held the piece up. The cocky grin made the demon's lips curl upwards. "BAD boy."

The angel rolled his eyes at his friend and sighed. "It is not-"

"I know," the demon stopped him before he could continue to explain that this had nothing to do with black magic and that it was some ancient ritual to break a spell.

Neither of them heard the silent shuffling of sock-clad feet on the stairs nor the hall, nor did they sense the hunter entering. Just when he cleared his throat and spoke up they noticed Sam leaning against the door frame of the kitchen.

The hunter actually looked like death warmed over.

"What's going on?" he asked hoarsely, visibly drained by walking the short way from his room into the kitchen.

"Sam!" Dean called out, his face instantly settling in lines of worry and a flair of anger. "You're supposed to rest."

Instead of arguing Sam gave him a warm smile, pushing himself away from the door frame and walked over to the table where he eyed the items Castiel had brought.

"Black magic?" he asked after a moment of intent staring.

"It is not-" Castiel was about to answer, but Dean stopped him. "It's not black magic. - Sit down before you fall over or something." He waved at the hunter and Sam obeyed.

Both he and Dean stared up at the angel, questioning.

"What'd you find?" Dean was the one to speak up first and looked back at the hunter, taking in his pitiful appearance. He sensed that Sam wasn't feeling well but decided to not bring it up just yet. After all they needed to resolve the spell – and figure out the thing Castiel meant wasn't good either.

The angel sighed and took a deep breath.

"It is a spell. You were right, Dean," Castiel said calmly. "These are the ingredients for the spell to be broken. It is a ritual that requires the cursed one's blood. But ... that is not what worries me." Now he looked down at Sam, a pitying expression on his face, which made Dean's gut twist and Sam's heart drop.

The hunter took a deep intake of air to brace himself.

Dean knew there had to be a catch. Alistair NEVER EVER let his pets – or captives, however you wanted to put it – alive. They never survived and Dean doubted that he'd make an exception for a random human hunter. Well, he had hoped that it was that way ... but obviously ...

"Besides the spell, there is something else ..." Castiel eyed the hunter wearily and squat down before the taller man.

Sam pulled back a bit, staring confused at him, as Castiel laid a hand on his knee. His gaze flickered towards Dean asking wordlessly if this was okay – if this meant something good or bad – if this behavior was normal for the angel.

The demon gave him _an i-don't-know-look_ back and looked at Castiel, asking himself if the angel was doing alright ...

"What?" Sam breathed as he stared back at the demon's angel-friend with knitted eyebrows.

"When did they diagnose you with your sickness?" the angel asked.

Sam shrugged. "I don't know ... I ... I was still in the hospital when I had the first attack I think. I don't really remember ..." Then he started to think, the wheels in his mind rattling. "They tried some pills after that ... and well ... they said they couldn't find anything in particular about it ..." He cleared his throat. "The first time it hit me knowingly was during interrogating a demon."

Castiel nodded. "Why did you interrogate the demon?"

Sam huffed out a breath. "Because of Alistair. Why?"

Castiel looked aside for a moment and he pulled his hand away from the hunter's knee. "Did those attacks occur every time you intended to learn where the demon was?"

Now that Sam thought about it ... there WAS a pattern – a blurry one, but it was there. Each time he had a new lead or thought about what he was going to do next or how he would try to get to Alistair, he started to feel at least weird, or a pull in his chest ... or one of those attacks was taking him out for a whole day. Though, as long as he took his medications it wouldn't kill him – at least so he thought.

The hunter nodded.

"You weren't sick before?" the angel continued to ask.

Sam shook his head, his eye growing bigger with the passing seconds.

"When I was inside of you, Sam ..." Castiel spoke, "... I felt the spell towering over your mind. But I also felt something else. I tried to get a closer look at it, but _it_ would not let me." He blinked. "It is not a biological disease causing the attacks. It is something supernatural." Castiel cleared his throat, obviously thinking about his next words. "It is a dark spawn growing around your heart like the roots of a tree. The harder you try to locate Alistair and try to figure out how to break the spell, the faster it grows, the more it has to feed on your desperation and fear."

Castiel rose again, his gaze still locked with the hunter's, who was now holding a hand to his chest. Castiel looked over at Dean and the corners of his lips turned downwards. "I am sorry, but I can not remove the spawn. You might want to make it as comfortable as possible for Samuel."

Dean stared at him in disbelief. "What?" he asked with a raised voice.

"Does that ... that mean's ... Do you want to say ... If I'm not going nuts because of the dreams, this THING will be doing the rest of it?" Sam huffed out a breath, disbelief written all over his face. "I've been practically killing myself? How is that possible? How is it possible that the pills even work when it's nothing physical?"

Castiel looked back at Dean's friend and swallowed visibly. "I do not know much about human medicine. All I can tell you is what I just said."

Defeated. That was what Sam felt like. He felt like crumbling down and never getting up again.

"But ... what if he stays away from demons and Alistair? What if he's ... I don't know ... just not thinking about it? If you'd make him forget it ever happened?"

Sam didn't listen nor wanted to hear about anything that left the other men's mouths just now ... he had to wrap his mind around that he was going to DIE.

"The spawn is growing – no matter what you do or try. Samuel trying to figure out about Alistair and failing it spurts it on," Castiel explained further. "It may have even fed on my grace as I touched it earlier," he added in a murmur.

This was ridiculous. Dean stared up at the angel and blinked once. Twice. "What does that mean?"

"That I'm gonna die no matter what I do or try," Sam answered the question before Castiel could even think about opening his mouth. He looked up at Dean then at the angel. "But ... we can ... we can make the dreams go away, right? That's what we can do?"

Dean snarled. "There's gotta be a way," he ground out through gritted teeth.

"Dean," Sam said – not warning – more pleading. Huge dull eyes stared at the demon.

"You can't just accept that, damn it!" he practically yelled at him. "No one dies in this damn room!" He shoved his chair back and rose as if he was going to burst out of the room, but he didn't. Dean wiped over his mouth, his eyes big. "We have still time to figure something out. It's not like you're gonna drop dead anytime soon," he muttered rather to himself than towards his friends.

"Cas?" he asked and the angel straightened up. "There is a way, right?" Now Dean looked at his angel-friend. There was love ... and FEAR in the demon's eyes. "RIGHT?"

"There might be. If there is a way to avert the inevitable event we will find it," Castiel answered calmly and for once Dean wasn't sure if the angel said what he just said to calm him down. Usually the guy was brutally honest about things.

"Please. Dean," Sam said again, this time a bit more silent and defeated.

"No, Sam. - I won't give up on this." ... _I won't give up on you_ was what Dean truly meant. He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. "You can't just SIT THERE ..." He pointed at him, at the chair, at the damn table. "... and accept your fate, man! That's not what you're supposed to do. That's NOT what a Harvelle is supposed to do."

Sam wouldn't look up at him. Instead he sat there, hands in his lap. His shoulders rose with a deep inhale of breath and suddenly everything was silent.

It was silent for a long time indeed – until the hunter cleared his throat and looked up with glassy eyes. "Can we do the ritual? ... I'd like to ... get some more sleep ... so ..." He grazed Dean with his look which landed on the angel. "I can pay you or whatever you angels trade for things." Sam gestured at the items on the table before him. He alone would've taken at least a month to get all the ingredients together. "Anything ... anything you want ... It's yours." Something in his voice told the demon that the hunter didn't just mean material payment at all.

Dean's eyes narrowed on the man, suddenly feeling a pang of jealously and madness pull in his chest.

Castiel seemed surprised and confused at the same time as he tilted his head to the side, obviously trying to read the hunter's face, his emotions ... everything.

"Angels do not long for human's owing, Sam," Castiel said.

Then there was silence again and Sam just stared at him and Dean watched Sam stare at his angel-friend.

"But I do owe you," the hunter said with a pained looking smile. "So ... If -"

"You do not owe me anything. I was capable of finding the spell and those ingredients in time before your next sleep cycle starts," he pointed out, "Though I have to mention, that this ritual may hurt you – or at least affect your health further since you are not healthy."

Sam's false smile faded slowly. "I owe you though," he murmured with his head down, "So ... if I can do something – as long as I am among the living – I will do it."

Castiel's eyebrows furrowed and his forehead creased again. "Is this something humans do to not feel guilty?"

Dean chuckled. "Just the good ones, Cas." He smiled softly at Sam before he looked at the angel. "So ... is it dangerous? The ritual ... is it dangerous?"

The angel obviously thought about what to say next. "It can be."

"That's not a good enough answer," the demon shot back. "Is. it. Dangerous?"

"I can't say for sure."

"Still not a good enough answer," Dean demanded.

"Stop it," Sam rose slowly from the chair and looked at Dean more pleadingly than anything else. "What choice do I have?" he looked at the both of them.

"It's not about doing it or not. It is about what is going to happen after. It's important to KNOW. Because neither me nor Castiel will be able to help you," the angel's friend answered calmly. "That's why I'm asking. That's why I care." There was so much truth and other emotions sparkling in the man's eyes, and if Sam would have looked closer he'd see the honest worry and fear in the demon's behavior and words.

"Fine ..." Sam chewed on the inner side of his cheek and nodded. "Fine."

"Good. Now that it's settled I'd say we get everything ready and the ritual done," Dean spoke up after clearing his throat. "We shouldn't waste time ..."

_... to be continued_

* * *

**CHAPTER XII**

They didn't waste time.

Castiel set up a sigil in the middle of the living room after shoving the couch out of the way with a snap of his fingers. He lit candles and laid the ingredients out on the floor, surrounding a brass bowl with all the herbs and vials they needed.

Meanwhile Dean busied himself getting the medical kit laid out on the counter closest to them. He took exquisite care to have everything handy if they'd need it. Dean checked each vial twice – damn he'd feel a lot better if he had one of those defibrillators at hand too, since they didn't know what would happen.

Though, he hoped dearly that they wouldn't have an opportunity to use any of it.

Sam stood nearby, leaning against the wall and watched them do their thing since he wasn't allowed to do ANYTHING to help them getting things set up. He was sulking. Though deep down he knew that Dean's order to relax and let them do all the shit was because he was worried and not an ass.

So he leaned there. It wasn't that bad of an idea after all since the slight pull in his chest felt omnipresent ever since he had woken up. It wasn't bad, nor did it hurt … he just FELT it and now that he knew what this feeling meant he fought against the urge to puke all over the floor.

There was something GROWING inside his chest. Something that wasn't part of him. Something not _natural_. Something killing him slowly …

Getting rid of his dreams lightened his mood though. Knowing he was slowly dying and having torturing nightmares each night was way more depressing than anything else right now. He was high likely one of the only humans – HUNTERS – who'd have the opportunity to watch an angel and a demon-like being work together on saving a human's life.

„I am done," Castiel tore through his thoughts.

Dean laid one of the vials back on the counter and turned towards him, then to Sam. „You ready?", he asked hesitantly.

Wasn't it weird? At least it felt weird to Sam. The demon's face was all open and hopeful and HONEST. It was like a mask had fallen from the man's face, his whole person, hours earlier. He was opening up. Dean Winchester was showing emotions and didn't try to suppress or hide them.

Sure there was still this cocky way in which he swung his hips when he turned around, or licked over his pouty lips or blinked when he knew that Sam was staring at his ass but acted as if he didn't notice. There was so much more now besides a handsome guy with freckles and forest-green eyes and bow legs (and a damn perky ass).

There was Dean Winchester – and _hell_ , if he'd had more time left … if he had more of everything … he'd so hit on that guy, would drag him upstairs into his bedroom and crawl over him.

Dean wouldn't have time to realize what was happening to him.

Sam smiled and pushed away from the wall with a nod. „So … what do I have to do?" His voice was hoarse.

Castiel handed him a dagger. „You have to go inside the sigil. The ingredients are laid out in the same order you have to lay them into the bowl. When you set these things on fire, you have to add a few droplets of your blood." He paused to take a breath. „Me and Dean will recite the counter-spell in the meanwhile. It is absolutely important that you do not stop what you are doing. Neither will me or Dean."

Sam gave him a short nod and stepped into the circle, where he kneeled down before the brass bowl. He breathed deeply and nodded again, this time to himself. Then he shared a trustful glance with Dean Winchester, whose usually pouty lips were stretched into a tight line.

_~*DW & SW*~_

The ritual itself went over without Sam or the spawn in his chest pulling stunts. Maybe because the ritual went down fast enough or because he didn't think about it that much. Or didn't have time to think about it. Anyway, Dean was damn happy about not having to use any of the medical equipment he had set up on the counter.

Though, Sam looked pretty drained at the end of the ritual and he was holding the left side of his chest and panting slightly. Not that the hunter would've mentioned that he was hurting or not feeling well …

HUNTERS.

_~*DW & SW*~_

„How do we know if it worked?" Dean asked softly.

When he came out of Sam's bedroom, Castiel stood there beside the door, leaning against the wall. Dean pulled the door closed so that the hunter wouldn't hear what they were talking about, since Sam was just resting.

Dean had just brought him upstairs and dumped him on the bed like a good friend … a _very_ good friend … nah, a _damn_ _good_ friend, because there had also been a moment where his lips had brushed Sam's cheek before he had straightened up again.

Castiel shifted from one foot onto another, obviously not quite convinced nor satisfied. „I think we have to wait to see if there will be any dreams. I would not suggest having a look at his insides again. - I am afraid I could possibly trigger another attack."

Dean nodded and pursed his lips. „Thanks, man." He patted the angel on the shoulder. „What do you think? There a way to get the spawn out of him or something? I mean … there's gotta be something, right?"

Castiel seemed to weigh his options, but then he nodded. „I will have a look. But I can not promise anything at the moment." He gave him those giant blue kitten-eyes … Then he hummed and made a confused noise back in his throat. „You do not react the same way when I look at you as when Samuel Harvelle looks at you in the same way..." he pointed out pensively.

„Well … HIS are puppy-eyes and yours are … I don't know … looks like kitty to me, so … I'm allergic to cats ..." Dean explained with a cocked eyebrow, not wanting to have this conversation at all with the angel.

„This is some kind of metaphor, isn't it?" The angel's eyes lit up in that innocent childish way for a moment at the fact that he recognized that Dean was using a metaphor.

„Sure, little mountain lion," The demon chuckled and sighed.

„Why are you comparing me to a giant-" His lips formed a perfect „o".

„Thanks for your help. It would've taken me a whole lotta more time to figure this out by myself ..." Dean said calmly and gave the man a small smile. „You'll tell me if you find something?"

The angel nodded proudly. „Of course I will. - Does that mean that I am supposed to leave now so you can go back to Samuel and watch over him? Because … I thiiiink I do understand now ..."

Dean didn't say anything, just stared at the angel with his cocked eyebrow, telling him without words that he was daring him to continue.

„You are in love with him, but you can not tell him that, nor admit it to yourself yet. That is why your heart rate is accelerating slightly when we are talking about him. And it also would explain why your body language and muscle-tension changes." He watched Dean closely. Too closely. It made the demon squirm.

Dean grinned and shook his head after a moment of regaining his composure back, patting his friend's shoulder again. „Shut up," he said in a rather playful voice.

„I would not be offended if you would tell me right away, Dean. You can not emotionally hurt me.", Castiel explained for about the hundredth time since they knew each other, that – no matter what – he wouldn't just leave him or something because Dean didn't want him there at the moment.

Dean sighed and looked up again, chuckling shyly. „Fine, Doc. Feelgood. - Now fuck off and do some angelic research." He paused. Making a point. „ _Please_."

He didn't see often that Castiel grinned – and today was one of the rare moments when he did before the rustle of wings was heard and he was gone.

The demon nudged the door open and lurked through the narrow gap into the room, staring at the hunter for several longing moments. The angel was right. He kind of was in love with the guy in there. He felt drawn towards him and the further he was away from him the more intense this feeling became. So yeah, maybe it was love … maybe it was sexual attraction (after all Sam was a handsome man with quite some benefits) and maybe it was even both.

Though, there was nothing he could possibly do about that right now, so he had to suck it up, go in there and keep guard over the hunter's dreams as long as he'd be out.

Dean moved inside and towards the free space on the bed, where he crawled onto it and snug under the covers, right up beside Sam. The younger man murmured something incoherent and shifted, turning towards Dean while he continued to mumble.

The demon sighed as he rolled on his side to face the hunter and a soft grin tugged on his lips. Maybe there a bit of attraction involved that wasn't sexual at all.

His face fell moments later when his thoughts drifted towards the THING that was slowly squeezing the hunter's heart to mush – or rather locking it up in a cage so it wouldn't have enough space to beat properly.

After about three hours of keeping guard, Dean figured that the ritual with the counter spell had worked and snug out of the bed and the room on silent toes. While Castiel would be searching for a cure, Dean had something else to do that was long overdue – in the basement.

_~*DW & SW*~_

Standing in front of the snarling and gasping demon in the female's host, Dean pointed with the hunter's demon killing knife at the blonde girl.

The deal was she'd tell him Alistair's real name and he'd stab her instead of exorcising and sending her back to hell. Meg – the possessed girl – had made an appearance somewhere between cutting and punching and had begged him to make it stop.

One of those mighty cruel tricks those bastards pulled all the freaking time. Tricks that didn't bother Dean in the slightest to be honest. So no, he didn't feel bad about the girl at all. He rather felt bad about the fact that he didn't feel bad about what he was doing to her.

„Maeleachlainn," the demon hissed, her black eyes gleaming in the pale light of the single bulb above her head. „His name's Maeleachlainn." She panted, her chest heaving with every short breath she took.

„Ancient Irish, huh?" Dean said with a smirk. „Who says that it's the right one. Where's my insurance?"

Meg snarled at him. „It's his. It is and now do it."

Dean hummed as he walked over to the table with the tools and utensils and laid the knife back on it and picking up a black small book instead, flipping through it.

The woman stared at him in shock and horror, already knowing that the Winchester wouldn't keep his word. He wouldn't leave her off the hook and let her die – wiping her out for good.

„ _Maeleachlainn_ you said?" he asked without looking up from the book as he skipped some more pages towards the end of it.

„That's what I said. - Now do it. You promised," she spat at him angrily.

Dean hummed again and turned towards her without looking up. „See. Thing is, that I am SURE you think you told me the truth. I also appreciate your cooperation here. Well … I appreciated it. The only problem is … It'd be way more interesting to see how Ali and the others react about knowing that you worked with me on this ..." He grinned evilly at her and pursed his lips as he looked up.

Her eyes were wide and frightened. „No, you can't do that. I HELPED you, Winchester. I _told_ you."

„Your bad," His grin widened. „I want you to bring them a message though."

„Screw you!" she tore on her blood-slick bindings.

„See ..." Dean stepped closer and bowed down a bit to be closer to her. „... This hunter. He's MINE. Samuel Harvelle is MINE. I do not like to share what's mine, darlin'. With no one. Further, I hate it when something that's MINE gets hurt … as much as a scratch and I'm pissed as hell … and just so you can tell them what I'm capable of …" He grinned and slammed the book shut, stuffing it between his jeans and lower back before he turned his back on her. „I'm going to prove it to you. - And watch it. I don't want you to miss a thing."

Dean sauntered over to the stairs and left the demon alone for an agonizing five long minutes before he returned, shoving someone – who looked like a male figure – in front of him. The man wore a bag over his head, sigils scribbled all over it in angry red.

The man was tied at his wrists and his ankles were secured with shackles and a chain connecting them. He was a hair taller than the Winchester himself.

Meg watched him push the man before her, close to the devils trap, but not stepping over it. Dean pushed the man down and his captive gave a grunt in protest when his knees hit the cold concrete.

He kept one hand on the man's shoulder, while he tore the bag off of the guy's head and flung it aside. The man blinked and shook his head, breathing hard.

„You see?" Dean asked and squeezed the man's shoulder tightly.

„Fuck off," the guy snarled, his pitch-black eyes locking on Meg's.

Dean chuckled and sighed, laying his hand on the back of the man's head. „And now watch, bitch. – This is what I'll do to anyone who comes near Samuel Harvelle."

Dean just hoped – he badly hoped – that this would work as he had planned. Otherwise this could get awkward.

Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Moments later the man beneath him whined. What seemed to be discomfort at fist, changed suddenly into something more painful and agonizing as the man's mouth opened to scream in agony.

There was no light … no smoke … no nothing. Just a plop and instead of a pair of obsidian-black eyes, there were bleeding holes in the man's skull as the scream died slowly.

Dean sighed, opened his eyes and let go of the man's body, so that it dropped forward, landing face down inside the devil's trap before Meg's feet.

She stared at the corpse to her feet and swallowed – hard – before she looked back up at the demon.

„How did you do this?" she asked with wide eyes. „HOW?!"

Dean shrugged and reached back from where he pulled the small book from his jeans and flipped it open again. Then he started to read „… _Exorcizamus te omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio …_

_~*DW & SW*~_

When Dean came back upstairs it was the middle of the night. There were two long – slightly human-shaped – cocoons made of sheets lying on the floor in the living-room and a glass of whiskey in his hand. He gulped the amber-colored liquid down and went upstairs to check on Sam who still seemed to be deep asleep.

He needed to get rid of the corpses before he'd wake up. Sam'd be pissed anyway, when he'd notice that the demon was gone … Maybe he'd even think that Dean had let her go …

Then again: What did it matter? Well, except for the fact that it DID matter.

Sam wouldn't take it good anyway.

No matter how he'd twist and turn it – he WOULD be pissed.

Dean had not intended in the slightest to let Sam downstairs, nor would he have allowed him to interrogate her – not after what he knew now. Not when it meant that it would worsen his condition.

So he gulped the whiskey down, got the corpses outside to the clearing where he had changed into flight-mode for the first time in a long time and gathered stakes and wood.

During those two agonizing long hours it took him to get the corpses out there, get a fire going and watch them burn, his mind was directed at the house and its inhabitant. He so hoped that Sam would sleep through it, would not try to go downstairs on his own or something else.

He was worried.

So, when it looked like nothing could possibly end the cracking fire eating away at the human shapes, he turned his back on them and made his way back to the house. A heavy weight fell from his shoulders when he saw no one on the ground-floor and that everything seemed to be as he had left it.

Dean hurried up to get dressed in a fresh set of clothes – without blood and dirt and weren't reeking like dead rat. Carefully and silent without shoes, he made his way upstairs and snuck into Sam's bedroom.

„It was so calm," he heard a muffled voice from the bed. „Thought … thought you left or something …" The voice cracked, heavy with an emotion Dean couldn't put his finger on and a half sneeze, half cough followed.

Dean stopped dead in his tracks. „Did I wake you?"

He didn't see the hunter shake his head but he could sense a motion as the form under the blanket shifted. Sam's head was covered by shadows, so was the upper half of his body. Though he could _feel_ the hunter's eyes on him, watching him.

„I woke when I heard a thud, footfalls and a lock ..." Sam's words sounded hesitant. „... A while back."

A while? That while had been about three hours ago … „That's _quite_ a while, Sasquatch," his smirk echoed in his words. „'s been about three hours. - Why didn't you call? I'd come upstairs. Get you something to drink."

There was a beat of silence from both sides.

„Coke," Sam muttered hoarsely.

„Coke?" the demon asked.

„Yeah. Got myself a coke from the fridge. Wanted to check on the demon, but the basement's locked," he explained tiredly. „Figured you took the keys."

Dean swallowed a huff so to not sound suspicious at all. „Yeah. I took the keys." It felt like walking on eggshells. „Didn't want to leave you alone with a demon in the basement … I just needed fresh air, Sammy." He cleared his throat gingerly. „I came back, didn't I?" he asked softer, very calmly.

Dean heard a soft exhale echo through the dark room. Nothing more.

For a long moment he thought about turning around and going into his room. But decided against it within seconds. If he was going to show Samuel Harvelle his affection, he had to work on it, push further and not back off.

That was the plan. Pushing until he'd feel resistance – but NEVER EVER backing off … except … except Sam wouldn't want him in the same way.

He shuffled around the bed towards the other side and crawled under the covers beside Sam, keeping a bit more distance than just a few inches this time.

„What were you doing?" Sam's voice was scratchy but calm and definitely a bit tired.

Dean remembered the thud when the corpse had slipped from his shoulder and hit the ground. „Got logs for the fireplace downstairs," he answered casually, „The oil-tank's close to empty and I figured we'd have to keep at least one or two rooms warm enough to not let you freeze."

Dean felt the mattress dip and move, signs that Sam shifted. Then Sam cleared his throat. „I didn't think that I'd stay here that long … Or even come back to this place."

„Me neither," Dean agreed softly. „Not that I thought I'd end up here anyway … or that I'd stay."

There was silence for a few seconds.

„Dean?" Sam sounded vulnerable and innocent and somehow like a kid …

„Yeah?" The demon turned his head over so that he could see Sam's outline in the spare light of the full moon which was beaming silvery through the curtains at one place.

There was silence again. Sam was hesitating. „Why are you still here?" Though he got straight to the point anyway.

Dean chuckled and nudged with his elbow into Sam – actually not caring where he'd hit him. „Because I'm awesome like that," he answered with a cocky grin.

Sam could practically hear the man's lips curl up mischievously.

„AND … because I kinda like you. It'd be a pity to lose such a good boy toy like you, bitch," Dean wiggled with his eyebrows at him in the darkness. What totally lost its effect since Sam wouldn't be able to make it out.

Sam huffed out a laugh. It sounded hollow and empty – without power. „Fuck you too, jerk." There was a nudge into Dean's ribs and a high-pitched „Ow".

The hunter chuckled.

Dean sighed pleased and turned on his side. It didn't matter that he couldn't see Sam's face or any part of him, though he felt the need to SEE even if he couldn't. He cleared his throat. There was movement again and he felt Sam pulling the blanket higher over his shoulders – at least Dean figured it were his shoulders.

A shuddering breath followed.

„You cold?" Dean asked after he thought he heard the man shiver.

„No," even the hunter's voice sounded shaky.

Dean didn't believe him anyway. That bastard was a damn bad liar after all. So he crossed the short distance with his hand and found the taller man's hands holding each other and pressed against his chest. They were – in fact . Cold as ice.

„I'll go and get you another one," Dean exclaimed, but got stopped by a giant hand covering his and holding it to his chest.

„No … please," it was a plea. „Stay?"

Dean huffed out a breath. Sam wanted him to stay … _beside_ him … which made him feel damn good and needed and all things. „You're cold. - I'll be back in a minute."

But the grip on his hand tightened at that. „Stay," Sam's voice shook. „Don't make me beg, okay? … Just … come closer ..."

Dean sighed and and settled back down again. „Whatever you want." He pulled his hand away and this time Sam let it go without further protest. The demon opened his arms invitingly and inched forward until he found a soft resistance against his chest. A smooth and soft resistance created of flesh and bone and skin …

The taller man scooted downwards a bit and tugged his head under Dean's chin and snug with his arm around the demon's waist. Breath caught in Dean's lungs as he felt the hunter pressing close against him and one of those incredibly long legs sneaked in between his.

He let Sam get comfortable and just when he started to shift and prop, he closed his arms around him to hold him.

„Other than … being cold … you're doing alright, yeah?" Dean could've bitten his tongue. Asking it that way didn't give him any choice to form an answer. It was _yes_ or _no_ and Dean thought there was no NO for a hunter anyway – at least not at this question.

Sam nodded into his chest, his eyes closed, his breaths even.

„Just … exhausted and tired. That's all," Sam hummed, a shiver running up his spine when the other body's warmth started to soak through his clothes and into his skin. It was comfortable and it felt good. Like this. He could stay like this for eternity. He wouldn't mind. Not at all. Not at the moment.

But then again … where did hunters go? Well, maybe most hunters would end up in heaven, but surely not him. He was one of the bad guys high likely. Counting the possible kills that hadn't been justified … He was a KILLER after all and as far as he knew, Killers didn't belong in heaven.

So he'd might as well end up in hell … Not a very comfortable thought at all.

Dean felt warm puffs of air against the front of his shirt and the heat they generated in the small space between Sam's face and his chest and the goosebumps that rose all over his skin as the hunter's hair tickled his neck.

He couldn't but trace with his upper hand along Sam's spine and up to his neck, tangling his fingers into the soft hair and holding his head close – so impossibly close he was afraid for a moment that he'd suffocate him.

This wasn't like FRIENDS held each other – not the way they did. They held ONTO one another, limbs tangled loosely. Both knew that this was way more than just friendship already. This was more than a family-bond could be. Sure, siblings might cuddle too … but it felt different.

Sam nuzzled with his nose into the demon's shirt and breathed in, deep and slow, his nostrils flaring with the smell of faint metal and strong whiskey.

Holding onto consciousness was an impossibility for Sam and so he drifted off to sleep soon again, while Dean held him tight, stroking gentle circles into his lower back.

_~*DW & SW*~_

After eighteen hours of sleep without even doing as much as shifting under the covers, Dean started to get truly worried. Sure the hunter hadn't slept well in months and the events of earlier didn't do him any favors either, but this? Eighteen hours straight since Sam had fallen asleep in his arms that night was a bit too much for the demon's liking.

It wasn't that Sam hadn't been able to wake or something. Sure he was. Dean had woken him, had made him drink and taking his pills, but he wasn't even sure if the hunter had registered any of it by the looks of it.

Dean had checked earlier that afternoon on the remains of what once were demon's hosts on the small clearing. He hadn't dared to go there earlier that day, since he was counting on Sam to wake up. But since he wouldn't, he decided to do it now than when Sam'd be up and around again and would start to ask questions .

Dean took a deep breath and was about to go downstairs, when a tall guy with shaggy hair appeared on top of the stairs, one hand against the wall to his left side and one stretched from him, so that his fingers were brushing over the banister on his right.

Sam looked good actually. Well, not as good as a healthy person would look, but under the circumstances … He had color in his face, his eyes had this special spark again and his legs didn't seem TOO wobbly either. So he was on the mend, wasn't he?

Except for the devil's spawn which was growing slowly in his chest … what made the thought of Sam doing better a bit bitter.

„Hey," Dean said, waiting at the foot of the stairs for the hunter. „You're looking better."

Sam stopped halfway and looked up flabbergasted. Obviously he hadn't noticed the demon yet. „Hey," he said, a small smile on his face before he continued to take one step at a time, one foot after another. „I'm better."

Dean hummed, seeing that Sam meant it and didn't lie to him. „I was about to get upstairs and haul your ass out of the bed, you know?" There was his cockiness again.

The hunter chuckled. „Deathsick people are allowed to sleep, you know?" What obviously had meant to sound like a joke or something funny seemed to pull a damp, tense cover over the atmosphere in the room.

Dean's face fell a bit, but stopped himself from going down all the way before Sam'd notice. He huffed out a breath as if he could blow out the emotions through his mouth and took a deep breath of fresh air.

„You're not dying. We're gonna find something." Dean waved at him, when Sam reached the last step and he reached out to the demon to take his lower arm to hold onto. „I could make you some sandwiches? Or something warm? Pasta Bolognese would take about an hour or so though."

Sam blinked and seemed to think about it. He opened his mouth a couple of times but closed it again. „Something warm would be nice … and pasta sounds pretty good." He gave him a shy smile.

For all Dean knew, Sam shouldn't be as exhausted as he started to look as soon as they entered the kitchen. He had done pretty good before they found out what was going on and before doing the ritual and all that.

Sam had been fine – well not FINE, but okay – and NOW? It felt like things were speeding up, robbing them of precious time to find a cure.

„Good. Pasta Bolognese it is. – Couch," Dean intended to direct Sam out of the kitchen again and into the living room to get him onto the couch there, but Sam pushed in the other direction.

„Thought we're cooking Pasta? Can't do that in the living room."

„Nope. Couch 's for your. - We ain't messing around here," Dean snapped and made his voice lower, rougher.

„What if I wanna _mess_ around?" Sam asked innocently and stopped in his tracks, a sly glint in his eyes and a so not shy grin on his lips.

Dean could see it from the corners of his eyes. - So yeah, it took him a moment to process what Sam had been saying and his mind decided to be taken aback by the innuendo – because that was meant as an innuendo, right?

… _... to be continued_


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER XIII**

So much to Dean's annoyance, Sam helped with the Pasta Bolognese.

Dean had ordered him to sit at the table and cut the onions and other vegetables into tiny cubes – which he hoped would take the hunter a while. Meanwhile he was thinking – like so often lately ...

About himself and ... well about Samuel Harvelle of course.

He was thinking and picturing a lot of things.

Sam's lips against his. Fingers over hot, sweat-slick skin. Sheets and massage oil. Tight heat surrounding HIM ... yeah ... and little demon-dean seemed to enjoy those thoughts too ... maybe even a bit too much.

"Done," Sam's voice filtered through a haze of lusty thoughts.

Dean hummed.

"I'm done," Sam repeated and laid the knife aside, watching the demon's backside with a slight frown. "Done!" he called out.

Dean flinched and he spun around. "Pardon?"

Sam grinned. The apron looked simply hilarious on Dean. Pink with white slender stripes, lace, and a bunch of cookies and kittens on it.

Dean was glad he put it on ... it covered what wasn't supposed to be seen – at least not now. "What're you grinning about?"

"Seemed you got lost in dreamland with a bunch of cats and cookies," Sam said, his grin spreading, causing dimples to pop up all over his face.

Dean glared at him. "These aren't cookies. They're cupcakes."

"But it's still pink and you've got kittens on it. It's cute. Really. Matches your eyes." The hunter's grin formed into an adorable smile that lightened up the whole damn kitchen with its megawatts.

Dean growled at him, his eyes flashing black.

Sam threw his head back and laughed – a full body laugh.

It took the demon everything to not let his lips twitch and curl up. It took him everything to not melt away with the noise and the picture before him. It took him EVERYTHING to not go over there, thread his fingers into that ridiculous girly mop of hair and plunge his tongue into that lusciously looking mouth of his. EVERYTHING.

"Shut up, bitch," he hissed and turned back around, facing the pot with hot oil on its bottom. "Onions. Pronto."

Sam sniffed and wiped tears from his eyes. "Sure, kitchen queen." He could practically SEE the pout on the ridiculously soft looking lips through Dean's skull.

"Fuck you too, asshole," he muttered.

Sam still chuckled when he walked over with the board of chopped onions and handed it to him. Dean took it without looking up and put them into the pot. Instantly they started to sizzle and steam and turn into a golden brown.

Sam then went and got the other vegetables from the table and handed them over. He leaned beside Dean against the kitchen counter, the wood digging into the sharp bones of his denim clad hips as he watched the demon putting the meat into the pot.

They didn't speak. Not at all.

Dean cooked and Sam watched intently. Calloused fingers around the spatula, the flick of Dean's wrist when he stirred in the pot.

"Are they ..." Sam started, the question burning on his tongue ever since his last dream of Alistair. His voice trailed off and he cast his look away from Dean.

Then there was a beat of silence.

"Are they ... What?",he asked when Sam didn't continue his question.

The hunter cleared his throat and sighed. "Your ... You know ... when ... I mean ... When you were there – in my dream – and Alistair ... then you ..." He huffed out a frustrated breath. "I saw wings. I mean: I THINK I saw wings on you. Like GIANT wings ... and I was wondering ..."

"If they're real? If it was a metaphor your brain came up with?" he saved Sam from babbling more awkward shit and got to the point without looking at him.

The hunter nodded. "Were they real?"

Dean's lips curled up a bit. "Yes."

Sam nodded again and looked back at him, searching the demon's – nope, probably not a demon, but still demonic – form with his looks. "Are they like Castiel's?" It was less hesitant.

The demonic being beside him grinned broader and poured the vegetables into the pot. "Nope. MINE are fucking real. You can touch them, snuggle them ... you can SEE them," he explained calmly.

The hunter huffed out a breath and he stared with wide eyes at the demon's shoulders and upper back.

"Can I," Sam asked after another beat of silence.

Dean – who was totally taken in by the task of stirring in the sauce Bolognese – hadn't a clue what the hunter asked for. "Can you what?"

"See them." Sam bit down on the inside of his cheek and waited – like a dog for getting his treat. "Your wings ... I'd ... I'd like to see them."

Slightly taken aback and kinda flattered he looked up at the slightly taller man beside him and titled his head to the side. "Like NOW?"

Sam smiled shyly. "Noooo ... not now ... just when ... whenever you want?" Big huge gorgeous sparkling deep amazingly green hazel-colored eyes stared at him.

"Yeah. - Think I can do that," he muttered absently and turned his attention back at the pot before him. "Mind getting the Farfalle and ... a pot of water for me?" Dean asked – a hopeful attempt to break the awkward silence that spread right after his answer.

Sam nodded. "Where did you put them?"

"Storage, left upper shelf to your right," he answered straight away.

Sam nodded again and vanished behind a door right beside the kitchen.

Dean gazed up when the door slid back into the lock and looked at Sam for the first time. Really LOOKED at him since he was keeping him company while cooking. And the man looked a bit pale and the way he walked ... well ... wobbly didn't quite cover it. He was swaying.

"Why don't you just ... check out what's on TV, huh?" Dean watched the hunter approach from the corner of his right eye. "I got it here."

Sam didn't protest. Instead he put the bag with the noodles beside the stove and vanished out of the demon's sight, towards the livingroom.

A sigh of relief fell from Dean's lips when the hunter wouldn't protest, nor bitch about him ordering him around. Probably meant that Sam wasn't doing that peachy at all.

An hour later the Bolognese and noodles were ready and Dean laid the apron aside and prepared the dishes.

When he was all done, Dean snuck up behind the couch, where Sam was snoring silently in front of the running TV. He had to stop and watch the hunter's sleeping form, curled up into a tight ball on the couch.

It was amazingly weird, how such a giant guy was able to huddle up into something small like that. It was right out adorable and somehow cute, wouldn't it be for the deep lines of tension on his face and the tightly shut eyelids. The light of the TV played a myriad of colors in the darkness, enlightening the human's face just enough to see his eyes move underneath and the twitch of his muscles every now and then.

Something that was a dead giveaway for a not very relaxing and calm sleep.

A soft uncomfortable sound fell from the hunter's lips, like a protest.

Dean frowned at that and his first thought was, that the ritual hadn't worked at all and that Sam had one of this dreams rolling over him and putting him under again.

The demon approached the couch slowly and kneeled down beside Sam's face, placing a hand to his cheek, feeling cool and clammy skin against his palm.

"Sammy," he whispered softly and rubbed with his thumb over the man's cheekbone and along the line of his nose down to his lips.

Oh how tempting it was to touch them ... to _feel_ them.

Dean sighed heavily and blinked. "Sammy. - Food's ready," he whispered, knowing that if it was one of THOSE dreams, that the hunter wouldn't wake up at all. Not even when he'd bitch slap him right across his face.

"Sam," Dean said louder, not quite as soft as before. "Food's ready."

The man's eyes snapped open, his pupils dilated and slowly pulling together into smaller rounds of black. A sharp intake of air and a flinch away from the touch and tensing up muscles were proof that even if it wasn't one of THOSE dreams, that it hadn't been a good one either.

"Food's ready," Dean repeated calmer now. He let his hand on the man's cheek, his thumb following the line beside his nose back up as he smiled down at him worriedly.

Sam blinked, taking another deep inhale before his vision cleared from the mist of nightmares and focused on the green-eyed man above him. "Huh?" he is gaze darted towards the TV.

"Food. Ready. Pasta Bolognese?" Dean pulled his hand back slowly and laid it on the man's bicep, whose muscles still felt taut under his touch. "You good?" he asked, more concern in his voice now.

Sam nodded shakily. "Pasta you said?" After a moment of sorting his thoughts and smiled warily up at him, watching the light of the TV illuminating Dean's green eyes.

_~*DW & SW*~_

Two days went by, filled with food and eating and sleeping and hanging out in front of the TV. Sam seemed to do better by the third day's morning. At least good enough to think about the demon in the basement and how he could make her spill about how he'd be able to track Alistair down.

Freshly showered and ready to tear the world a new hole, Sam thumbed down the stairs athletically.

"Shower's free!" he called into the kitchen, where Dean was sipping on his black coffee.

All the hunter earned for it was a gruff huff and a moan. Mornings weren't cool at all – not before the first coffee anyways.

Sam then went into the living room where he got the mug from last night and sauntered into the kitchen with his lips curled into a smile. His gaze flickered towards Dean and _all over_ Dean, drinking up the man's posture. When he passed him their shoulders connected for a short time; a barely-there brush. Though, it was enough to rise the demon's attention and watch Sam from the corner of his eye. He turned around slightly to watch the man's back-view while he walked up to the sink and started to clean the mug.

Dean turned around a bit more and tilted his head to the side, one eyebrow risen at the sight of a butt, clothed tightly in denim. Weren't those ... _HIS jeans_? His second eyebrow rose and he thought for a moment. Nope, they weren't his – had never been, but he sure had bought them ...

Both eyebrows lowered again and his eyes widened, pursing his lips in realization. The jeans he had bought for the hunter when ... _when_ he had thought teasing him and spooking him off had been a good idea. Man, he had never thought that a pair of jeans could ever be used against him.

 _Damn it_ ... Even little demon-dean sprung to attention at the perfectly shaped view of a pair of glorious firm globes before him. Dean tilted his head to the other side as if to see if they'd look as good from another perspective.

And well, yeah. They definitely did. What he could do to that ass ... _Shit_ ... all of a sudden his jeans grew tight and the zipper on its front felt like a mean way to restrict a guy's free-room.

He watched Sam pouring himself a cup of coffee with a buttload of sugar and milk.

Sam smirked around the spoon as he licked it off after stirring in the coffee and shifted to his left foot, pushing his hip out and letting the muscles in his butt work their miracle. Sure he had chosen THIS PAIR of jeans just because there weren't any clean ones left in his duffel. And he DID NOT intend to make the demonic winged guy behind him nearly choke on his coffee when he shifted once more to the other side while taking a sip of his own. And he did NOT dropped the spoon to the floor so that he had to bow down and push his butt out and show it to Dean.

There was a choked moan from behind him and Sam grinned as his fingers curled around the spoon and he straightened up again.

Making the Winchester all gooey: _check_.

Getting coffee into his system: _check_.

Going into the basement and making the bitch spill: _When he was done with breakfast and making the demonic breed behind him loose it completely over a pair of tight denim._

At least that was what he had planned for the day. After all he hadn't any time to waste. If he wanted to get to Alistair he needed to make the trip before he'd get too sick to even go to the toilet on his own anymore.

So yeah. That was about what he had planned. Getting laid with Dean Winchester – not because he was THERE and AVAILABLE, but because he liked him. He REALLY liked him and he – to his own surprise – felt like he could trust Dean enough to do the horizontal mambo with him.

And _then_ he would go downstairs and squeeze the bitch's black soul out of her if she wasn't going to be compliant.

Sam turned around, his grin draining away slowly and morphing into a smile. "So ... where's the key?"

Dean's eyes went wide and suddenly there was a tingle of unease in his guts, making them twist painfully. He turned to face the hunter fully and put the mug on the coffee-table, his expression utterly serious and his head cocked slightly.

"About that ..." he said calmly and looked up at Sam, visibly uncomfortable.

The hunter's eyes narrowed, jumping on the weird vibes that were practically flooding the room all of a sudden. There was a mixture of anger and disappointment blooming in his chest.

"The key," Sam repeated, his voice vibrating with emotion. "Where is it?" Yeah, he already KNEW that something was off. It wasn't like he really knew, but his instincts did and sometimes his instincts told him more than that.

"The demon's gone," Dean said, not looking anywhere but Sam, following the range of emotions that crossed the hunter's face in a matter of seconds, "I burnt her corpse in the woods."

Sam straightened up, his nostrils flaring. "What?" there was too much of a whine in his voice. "Did she ... did you ... What the hell, Dean?!" He fisted his hands at his sides, his knuckles turning white. "That was MINE! MY chance!"

Dean sighed heavily and shook his head. "No it wasn't and there won't be any other demons. You won't try to find a way to hunt Alistair down and you won't put your life in danger over something you can't win anyway," he spoke calmly, his face deadly serious. "I'm not allowing you to kill yourself. That it why I killed her, why I burned her and that is why you won't hunt down another one of those bastards." He paused. "Castiel said it's growing when you try to find a way – so no. You won't go out there and get yourself hurt."

Sam's chest heaved with the flood of anger and rage that coursed through him, made his blood roar in his ears and head. "You son of a bitch," Sam hissed and pushed away from the counter in an attempt to storm out of the kitchen, grab his gear and hit the road again. Damning Dean Winchester and that angel for his. Damning everything.

He had to end this – he wouldn't just wait for death in this shitty house.

Dean stood right before him the next moment, urging him back against the counter again and pushing him up at it, his hands on either side of Sam's hips. "No. I won't let you leave."

"You will, or I'll make you," Sam snarled right into his face.

"You can't. And you should know that by now. - I won't let you leave because I don't want you to get hurt," he spoke softly, the grip on Sam's hip tight but not bruising. "I don't WANT you to die trying, Sam. You are MINE, you understand? And I'm protecting what's mine and if it means that I've to tie you down, kiddo." His face was open and honest and pure – he meant it. He really meant it.

Sam knew that the demon was at least partly right, but he couldn't – he wouldn't – accept that. He had to do something, fight something, blow something up.

"I'm no one's." Sam replied. "I'm mine and no one else's. Now back off."

Dean shook his head. _No way._

Sam pushed at him violently, but Dean was stood his ground like a god damn heavy giant. "I said: BACK OFF!" he growled loudly.

The demon shook his head again, not giving in. He kept his gaze locked with Sam's. Saw the despair. The hurt. The betrayal. The fury. He saw all of it and he kind of felt guilty and sorry as if he was the worst scum on god'd damned earth. But he had to do this. He had to stand his ground, make Sam stay. He knew Sam'd be dead if he'd leave and try.

He couldn't lose him. Not now. Not ever.

He'd find a way.

So he did the only thing he could do in that very moment:

Dean straddled Sam against the counter, using his weight and power to pin him right there and reached up to cup the human's face in his hands. Sam's fingers wrapped around the demon's wrists and tried to pry them away, but it was no use.

After all, this was Dean _freaking_ Winchester.

Sam's chest was heaving, his nostrils flaring, his breathing ragged and uneven and his eyes shiny with tears.

He stilled. All of a sudden he stilled and looked back at Dean. REALLY looked back and saw him. He saw IT. He saw the affection and the worry in the green-eyed monster's eyes. He saw freckles and pouty lips and long lashes blinked at him. But most of all he saw the kind of concern you could only feel if you loved someone dearly.

And maybe that was what made him still in the other man's touch. Maybe that was what made him give in into being pulled down and closing the space between their lips. Maybe that was it, what let him part his lips as Dean's touched his and just maybe that was the reason why he let him in. Let the other man's tongue sneak in between his lips and teeth after a couple of seconds of contact and what made him kiss back.

The demon's lips were soft against his, his hold gentle though firm ... And suddenly Samuel Harvelle felt home. He felt safe and cared for ... All fight draining from his tendons and muscles and flooding away.

"I won't let you go," Dean whispered against his lips.

Sam choked back a sob. This was not how he had imagined the day to start, nor to end. Nor anything in between.

"I NEED to find him Dean," he whispered back, "I can't just sit here and wait to die. I can't. I gotta fight."

Dean's eyes fluttered shut and he exhaled against the taller man's lips. "You will. Just not out there. You gotta trust me on this, okay? You gotta trust me and let me do this. - You've not the power to fight him. He's a demon, Sam. A bad one and I can't let him have you. I can't. You're too important."

Sam sniffed, a tear rolling down his cheek. "What am I supposed to do then?"

"Rest. Just rest and let me take care of you," Dean breathed, tangling his fingers into Sam's hair and tugging them backwards so that those chestnut-brown bangs wouldn't hang around in the way anymore.

"I'm gonna die." Sam's voice was breaking. "It doesn't matter in which way."

Dean pressed his lips together and squeezed his eyes shut. "You won't. Okay? You won't. We'll figure it out. Me and Castiel. You just ... just don't think about Alistair and ways to get him down, okay?" He breathed in. "Castiel said that the harder you try to get the demon's ass the faster it'll grow. - So ... _don't_. Stall for time and we'll find a way." Dean laid his lips onto Sam's in a tender kiss. "There's a way to get it out of you. We just need to find it."

Sam pushed out a long breath and let his eyelids fall down. He'd be useless if he'd agree. Then again ... it made sense. If he was laying low and just ... _wouldn't_ think about it. He could wait to kill off this son of a bitch. He'd track him down when he was cured, when he was strong enough again. Then he could think about the how and when.

He'd have to rely on Dean Winchester and the angel though ... letting someone else do HIS job ...

Dean's lips sealed over his again, ripping him away from his thoughts. "Don't think." He kissed him again. "Think about it, Sam. Give me a chance," he whispered and stole another kiss. "Please ..."

Sam leaned against him, arms tightly wrapped around the man's middle when he kissed back. Sam practically melted into him, as if he wanted to fuse their bodies into one.

_... to be continued_

* * *

* * *

**CHAPTER XIV**

There was a track of shed clothes littering the way from the kitchen into Sam's bedroom and towards the bed itself. Sam was lying spread out on the sheets, blanketed by the muscular though soft body of the demon.

Dean lay in between the hunter's spread legs, their hips grinding against each others while sharing deep kisses. Sam arched against the man above him, pushing their hard lengths together so that they were captured by their bellies. Breathy noises fell from their lips when they parted from the kiss and Sam was searching Dean's dark green eyes and face, his lips swollen and bruised form the other mouth and teeth and tongue.

"Sammy," Dean breathed huskily against his lips, pushing him into the mattress as he ground down on him. "So beautiful." His lips brushed along the taller man's jawline, tongue ghosting over heated, sweaty skin in the chilly air.

Sam bared his throat to him, giving him access to the most vulnerable part of him, his hands firm though gentle on Dean's flanks, seeking warmth and contact. His fingers fluttered and traced along his ribs and backwards, where those long-drawn gash-like looking slits were. Goosebumps were rising under the hunter's touch as his fingers fluttered along the parted muscles where wings lay hidden beneath.

Dean's back curled inwards at the barely-there touches of tender fingers along the skin at his back. He felt Sam's hands travel down the oversensitive skin there towards his lower back and back up again, sending jolts of pleasure through his nervous system straight into the depths of his belly where the heat of a blazing fire found its origin.

One of Dean's arms rested beside Sam's right arm, while the other one was drawing tender lines into the firm muscles of Sam's left thigh, balls and perineum.

Sam whimpered once more, when the demon brushed over that spot right behind his nads and further down to where his bottom parted into two firm globes of muscles. He bent his knees and drew them up, so to give the older man better access to where he was aiming at.

Dean's mouth was sealed over one of Sam's hard buds, nibbling and sucking it raw, while he worked his slick finger further down and groaned when he found the puckered entrance.

Sam's breath hitched and there was a wave of heat and WANT cursing through his body as he stopped bucking up against his lover. Dean's eyes flickered upwards, trying to get a glimpse of his hunter's facial expression, when he nudged at his hole.

Sam's lower lip caught in between his teeth, when he felt the slick digit enter him to the first knuckle and Dean's teeth gracing over his hard nipple at the very moment, to bite back a lustful groan.

Dean's finger pulled back slightly and inched back in – this time deeper. When Sam swallowed another sound, Dean pulled his mouth away from him and looked up.

"Don't," he breathed hoarsely, "I wanna hear you, baby boy." He placed a gentle kiss on the abused bud and eased his finger back in – deeper, stretching him further. "Let go, Sammy. Just let it go. It's okay," he babbled as he eased back out and in again, feeling the tight ring of muscles contract around him.

Dean guided the digit back inside and Sam let out a mixture of a desperate whimper and helpless growl. For a moment, the demon wasn't sure if this was okay. If Sam was okay ... if he WANTED this as bad as Dean wanted it.

"Sammy," he whispered, getting back up at the same eye-level. "Sammy." He kept his finger inside the other man, moving it slowly in and out. "Look at me," he demanded.

Sam obeyed and looked at him with bleary eyes, the expression on his face unreadable for the demon. His forehead creased in concern and doubt and his finger stilled. Maybe this was too fast too soon. Maybe it was the wrong timing or ... or Sam wasn't ready at all ... not after what Alistair had done to him four days ago.

And that made Dean's heart tighten, his guts twist and his mind heavy with guilt. _How could he even think about doing this?_ ... He wasn't better than him ... not better at all. He was making Sam do something he probably didn't want.

When he locked his gaze with the hunter's, Dean's lines softened and the worry was drifting away. He didn't see fear or horror in Sam's eyes ... It was different – it was something he couldn't put his finger on. There was a mixture of different shades of emotions playing all over Sam's face, but the most present seemed to be arousal and want.

Sam didn't say anything. He just reached up and cupped the demon's face in his giant hands, staring him right in the eyes, while he started to move his hips in slow circles, pushing Dean's finger deeper and deeper inside of him with every downwards motion.

Sam couldn't hinder his eyes from falling closed, he couldn't suppress the small helpless-sounding noises that fell from his lips when the demon's digit stretched him further. Soon he was a panting mess, writhing on Dean's finger.

The demon groaned, feeling Sam's massive manhood rub against his in a steady rhythm. Hearing the man's noises and cries whenever the tip of his pointing-finger would hit that sweet spot deep inside of him was making him all gooey. Not to mention the way the hunter moved. Pushes and rolls. The way Sam's muscles tightened and relaxed in the rhythm he went down on Dean's fingers ...

There was only so much a man could possibly take.

Dean withdrew his finger and crawled up, sealing his lips over Sam's, kissing him long and deep, tongues dancing in a fierce tango of dominance. He hiked the younger man's legs up over his shoulders, nearly bending him in half.

Dean lined up while they kissed, nudging with the head of his angry red arousal against Sam's slippery tight hole. He moaned into the kiss, when he finally pushed and breached him agonizingly slow, feeling yielding firm muscles closing around him.

Sam answered his moan with a low guttural sound, holding his breath until Dean was seated inside of him to the hilt and only then he would breath out audibly, his eyes shut, biting his lower lip.

"Sammy ..." Dean murmured panting, his forehead resting against the younger man's chest.

Sam wiggled with his hips as the demon wouldn't move. The tight pull of muscles surrounding Dean, made him moan delicately against sweaty skin.

What started off with gentle circles and carefull pushes and drags grew more forceful, more intensive.

Dean sucked and licked bruises into Sam's skin along his collarbone, tasting the salty sweat against his tongue. Their fingers intertwined at Sam's side as the demon held onto them and slowly, ever so slowly shoved them upwards and over Sam's head, pinning them there in a tight grip as his tongue trailed slick lines along Sam's neck.

The hunter's blunt nails dug into the backside of the demon's palms, making him groan and pick up his pace and the force behind his thrusts.

This was as close to heaven as Dean would ever be able to get. THIS could be his heaven, his haven of safety and care and want. SAM could be everything he ever wanted and even more ... he wouldn't need anything else – ever again.

Just this.

Just one PERSON. No eternity, no powers, no wings, no nothing. Just him and the knowing that they'd be together like this ...

Sam was driving up, taking him in, swallowing Dean whole. He didn't THINK – for once – why this could probably be a bad idea to have sex with something not human. He didn't need to think about it. Because this felt right. This was ... _special_. Not because it was consensual and because it was a demonic being he was with. It was because Dean Winchester made him feel whole, made him feel needed and worshipped as if he was able to reach right into the deepest core of his soul.

He was making him better and Sam wished – HE WANTED – to make it last forever, for all times.

This wasn't just because he was desperate and needed something – SOMEONE – to hold onto. It was because it felt right and good, because he felt safe. Safe enough to expose himself to Dean, to be there with him, all naked and vulnerable. It was safe enough to let him inside him. To let go of everything else around them and forget all the bad things in his life that usually threatened to suffocate him.

When he came, when this hot tight bubble in his lower belly popped and sent the ends of his nerves flying high, it was like a revelation, like a holy act and so much more ...

_~*DW & SW*~_

They lay curled up in the middle of the bed under warm covers. The air in the room was chilly to say the least, as icy flowers bore witness to the coolness of the oncoming winter.

Dean lay behind the hunter, spooning him. One arm under the man's head, where Sam used it as a pillow, and one wrapped around his middle. He nuzzled into the nape of the Sam's neck, who smiled blissfully with closed eyes as he felt Dean's lips wander over his shoulder, peppering gentle kisses along it.

Sam made a small sound, intertwining his fingers with Dean's shy above his navel. He felt warm puffs of air, where Dean exhaled against his cooling skin.

"You regret it?" Dean whispered huskily.

"What?" Sam murmured.

"We. This. Letting me fuck you into the mattress and beyond." His words were spoken lightly and as if there was no meaning behind them – except there was.

Sam sighed and made a noise back in his throat. "We didn't fuck ... did we?" Now his eyes fluttered open in an attempt to catch a glimpse fo the man behind him.

Dean groaned and ghosted with his lips back up to the man's earlobe, blowing a warm breath over it.

"No ... we didn't," Dean answered, nibbling on him. "Except ... you _want_ it to be just that." There was a pause and coolness against Sam's skin which made him shiver, when Dean pulled back a bit. "To be honest ..." he sighed, "My only issue with THIS being _just that_..."

First Sam had frowned, but his forehead turned back into a carefree surface. "I want it to be more," he answered quietly before he could even think about the words coming out of his mouth. "I want to be more to you, Dean."

"You're more already, Sammy," Dean whispered, "We'll fix this. We'll fix you. Me and Cas we'll take care of you, 'kay." His fingers ghosted over Sam's wrist, where he could feel the scarred skin from where he had cuffed him to the bed. Hell, it felt like a lifetime ago ...though it had been just WEEKS.

Sam hummed low in his throat and pressed back against Dean. It was hard to give into Dean's plea ... giving up that part of him that was born as a hunter and wouldn't stop hunting in a lifetime weren't it for death or some other power forcing him to.

Then again, it would only be temporary, right? IF he'd survive this, if Dean and the angel really found a cure for THIS ... then he'd be able to go back to hunting ... if he still wanted to.

It was a catastrophic mess in the hunter's brain, like scrambled eggs after a hurricane ... or so he thought.

"Sammy," Dean breathed into his ear, "I need you to stop trying."

Sam sucked his lower lip in and exhaled heavily as he let it go again. "Okay," he whispered back. "Only ... only under one condition ..."

He nodded into the hunters shoulder, some of the tension falling from his shoulders. "Whatever you want."

The hunter cleared his throat. "You promise me ... PROMISE me, that you won't risk your own life to save mine. I don't want you to get hurt."

Dean's grip around his middle tightened for a moment. "I can't promise you that." He turned the hunter over in his grasp to face him. "I can't, because I ... I don't think I could go on as if nothing happened after we had this here." A gentle kiss was given to the younger man's nose. "Besides ... I've not met anything yet that'd be possibly able to off me – at least not finally." He chuckled in this cocky, self-regarding way. "SO ... I _can't_ die."

Sam blinked up at him, laying his hand on the demon's bare chest. "Everything that's capable of getting hurt can be killed. You'd ... Look ... I'm just saying that ... That I think that you could do a whole lot of good things with your powers and stuff. If ... IF I'm not gonna make it you gotta keep fighting monsters, okay? Promise me."

Dean huffed out a breath. "That'd make two promises and I just agreed to one. So nope. Dealing-time with your demonic lover's over." He gripped Sam's naked butt and pulled him close.

Sam shook his head, grinning. "Please?"

"Are you begging me?" Dean asked slyly.

"I could pay you with sex?" the hunter offered and tilted his head to the side, pushing his soft penis up against Dean's. "What'd you say?" Sam bit his lower lip and pulled back a bit so that his lover could see it.

Dean groaned low in his throat and slipped with his fingers between Sam's globes, ghosting over his puffy hole.

The hunter hissed and flinched away from the light touch.

"Sore ... and you wanna go again?" he asked mockingly and shook his head.

"CAN _you_ go again?" Sam asked, bucking up against him.

The demon's manhood gave an interested twitch. "Think he's up for another round if you are." He cocked both eyebrows in a challenging manner and rolled in a swift motion on top of Sam. "What'd you think about ... a change in position?"

Sam chuckled and slapped the shorter man on his bicep.

_~*DW & SW*~_

One week.

They had one week of making LOVE, of cuddling, fooling around, watching each other shower or taking their showers together. They spent every possible minute with each other and Dean managed to not talk about the sickness or Alistair, or how things were going down research-lane with Castiel.

As much had to be said: Things with the researching and Castiel's search for a cure didn't work out well. Actually they had jack squat except for the ritual and how they'd be able to summon Alistair.. They did find out stuff about the spawn, but among the information was nothing they liked.

In some ancient book which Castiel had "borrowed" from somewhere in the Far East of the world, it told that a spawn of death – that was what Asian folks named it – would take a piece of the creator to free the tortured's heart. Other than that there was nothing they didn't already know.

A handful of demons were capable of doing that shit and Alistair seemed to be one of them ... sadly. Though, Dean intended to summon him and MAKE HIM take it back, but Castiel was right. Alistair wouldn't be compliant, no matter what they'd do.

And as long as they didn't know for certain how to get that thing out of Sam, or how to reverse or break or however the demon had gotten it in there, they wouldn't dare to touch that bastard. It was safer that way, with Alistair thinking that he was about to win.

And then BANG, they'd summon him and end him ... at least that was the plan – or kind of a plan.

So yeah, they still had to figure out about HOW to get rid of it and what pat of the spawn's creator had been used and in what way.

After all, Sam seemed to do pretty good, he didn't even look _that_ ill at all. Okay, there were those moments, where his gaze grew dazed for a few seconds, or when he'd reach for his chest. But other than that ... there hadn't even been one attack what hopefully meant that it was slowing down since he didn't have to care about all that Alistair-stuff anymore.

Dean just hoped, that this was a good sign, and that it'd buy them some more time to figure things out.

_~*DW & SW*~_

That was when it happened for the first time.

It was one of those evenings on the eighth night, when Castiel and Dean were hovering over old books and scribbling notes onto papers at the kitchen-table.

Sam was behind the house, chopping logs for the fireplace. He always found himself something to do, when Castiel came by with new old books and myths and legends, so that he didn't have to hear their discussion and most of all didn't have to think about it.

He had promised Dean not to – and he intended to keep his promises no matter how hard it was on him.

He was behind the house, splitting logs in halves and quarters with a big axe and stacked them up against the wall. It was making his mind free from those thoughts he shouldn't have and things he shouldn't worry about ...

Sam felt the aching pull in his left chest and let the axe sink down slowly. It was worse than usual, but not as bad as it tended to get whenever an attack would start. He just FELT that it was there as if reminding him that he shouldn't forget.

Sam had taken one of his pills, but somehow it wasn't working. Usually he took them and it'd subside after a short while ... but today ... today it didn't look like it wanted to back off, so he had taken a second one – just for precautions.

Sam panted slightly, his breath vaporizing and drifting into the air above him. He huffed out a breath, thinking about how pathetic and weak he sometimes felt ... and then he thought about Dean Winchester and he had to smile to himself.

He decided to leave it be for today – after all it was already dark and the small light at the back of the house didn't give a lot of brightness either, so he'd go back inside and flop down on the bed ... somewhere where he wouldn't hear them talk or where he didn't have to watch them researching HIS case.

Sam shook his head and sniffed, rubbing his glove-clad hands against each other as he rounded the house. Though, before he reached the porch, the first stab of pain nearly sent him to his knees. He gasped at the sudden lance of agony through his chest and had to hold onto the banister of the porch as all air got robbed from his lungs.

Would he have been able to curse he'd sent a range of filthy things up in the air.

He held his breath as long as he could, in hope the pain would fade and go away. Though, _no such luck_. So he stood there, clutching the banister, trying not to kiss the wooden stairs before him, while he frantically tried to pull desperately needed oxygen into his lungs.

"D'n," he croaked out in an attempt to cry out for the demon, but it wasn't loud enough. "Dean," he tried again, panting, sucking in a fresh gulp of air as another stab of brutal pain coursed through his heart and made his knees weaker. Sam squeezed his eyes shut, his lips forming a tight line.

"Castiel," he breathed, "Cas. _Please_."

That was definitely not how he had imagined to go ... Shit that _hurt_ ...

_~*DW & SW*~_

Dean balanced a pen between his middle and index finger and chewed on his lower lip, his nose buried in an old book. He had never been one who liked to do research – he wasn't THAT good at it either. Most of all he hated those ancient languages.

All philosophical and twisted words. Why even write it that way when it would have been easier to fucking write it so that everyone could understand? They were saying one and the same thing over and over again, just with different words.

Not to mention that it was boring as hell.

He sighed and rubbed over his eyes when the letters started to scramble and blur before his eyes once more.

Dean's lips twitched and he tilted his head to the side, listening. Sam had stopped chopping logs a few minutes ago ... NOT that he was spying on him. _Nope_. He trusted the hunter to not try and spy on them to find out how their research was going and he did not intent to go check on him just because he took a break, or decided to stop.

Sam'd bitch at him if he'd go out and look for him like the times before, when he found the hunter sitting on the stack of wood and slurping a beer.

Though ... There was always this spark of worry gleaming in his chest whenever Sam was out of sight. Sure, he had been good for the past week, what had been as much as a small miracle to all three of them but it didn't mean that it was a good thing at all.

"Nothing I suppose?" Castiel asked without looking up from his book.

Dean slammed the book before him shut and shook his head. "A whole load of bullshit," he muttered and leaned back, rolling his head to ease the tension in his neck. "Nothing at all. Just mentioning shit about _Death's Spawn_ but never going into detail." He groaned and watched his angel-friend intently who skipped another page.

"We will find something to help your ... _hunter_ ," the angel murmured while he kept on reading. "I will meet with someone who may be able to help. - Tomorrow."

"Another angel?" the demon asked.

"Yes," Cas answered.

Dean nodded to himself and laid the pen aside to reach for another thick old leather-covered book from the stack beside him. Before he had even started to open it, Castiel skipped a page further.

"Dude," he breathed, annoyed and rolled his eyes. That was definitely one of the abilities he hadn't gotten when Castiel had pulled him from the pit. "That's frustrating. - Would you at least slow it down a bit?"

Castiel cocked an eyebrow. "You do not need to feel useless because you are not capable of keeping up with me, Dean," the angel looked up. "I neither intend to make you feel less worthy by reading faster."

The demon huffed out a breath. "Dude, you know you can be a pain in the ass, hah?"

The angel tilted his head to the other side and pursed his lips as if he was thinking about it. "Was it not appropriate to point out that you are not a lesser worth being than me because you do not own the same abilities though you carry grace inside of you?"

"So not helping," Dean growled and looked back into his own book, deciding to ignore his friend. "Read and shut up, dumbass."

The angel sighed heavily and returned to read in his book. Shy a minute later, he looked up with a frown on his forehead and his eyes narrowing on something behind Dean.

"Dean,", he spoke up and practically jumped up from the chair. "Sam is outside. He is calling for me."

_~*DW & SW*~_

Wouldn't it have been for a pair of hands gripping him under the armpits, Sam would have face-palmed the porch's stairs unprotected.

He heaved in another breath, trying to push the searing pain aside. Whoever was there with him, he guided him down so that he was kneeling in the cool white snow.

"Samuel," Castiel spoke calmly.

That very moment, the front door burst open and Dean stood there on top of the stairs, staring down at the both of them, heart hammering in his chest, pupils blown wide, the angel looked up. Dean took the four stairs at once and was beside Sam in an instant, his hands on the man's cool cheeks and neck. He fell to his knees right before him.

"Sammy," Dean searched his lover's face frantically, but all he could see was pain and tears and trickles of blood oozing from his nostrils. "Sam – What is it? What happened?"

"The spawn," Castiel gritted out. "Where is your medication?"

"Took them with him," Dean muttered as he started to search the hunter's pockets in a fury. He ripped the zipper of Sam's jacket down, not caring that he was ruining it and ripping off the end of it in the process. Eventually he found them in the inner pocket and popped one of them out with shaky hands.

"Sam," Dean spat out, "Open up."

The hunter did quite the opposite and just shook his head. "D'n ... don't.", he muttered, nearly toppling over and slipping from the angel's grip. "Doesn't work ... won't ..."

" _Shit shit shit_." Dean dropped the pill and stuffed the bottle into his own pocket. "Baby. Look at me. LOOK at me, baby boy." He cradled the man's face in his hands and forced it up.

Sam tried to obey. He really did and he managed to squint his eyes open, his lips quivering. "'m sorry ... so sorry," he pressed out.

"Cas?" Dean's attention snapped towards the angel who was towering over them from behind the hunter. "What's happening?"

The angel's facial expression spoke volumes. "I can't tell."

"Fuck ... Sam ... hold on." Dean inched forward and took Sam from Castiel's grasp, slipping with his arms under the man's armpits. "Lets get you up and laid down, 'kay?"

There was a shaky nod against his shoulder, when he tugged Sam close.

"Good. c'mon," the demon said, trying to ignore the tremors wrecking his lover's body, or the palpable possibility that he could lose him right the fuck now. That Sam was about to die and he wouldn't have done anything to save him.

Dean pulled him up with him into a standing position, Sam supporting his partner's attempt to get him to put some of his weight on his own feet as good as he possibly could. Though, the hunter's knees buckled as soon as he tried to take the first step up the stairs. A surprised noise fell from his lips, when his feet lost contact with the frozen ground and found himself lifted up.

Sam didn't argue, nor protest. His heart felt like it got squeezed to mush inside of his chest. All he could do was to clutch at his chest and curl up into himself what seemed to lessen the lances of fiery pain.

He wasn't coherent enough, to notice that he was being carried inside the house and onto the couch in the living room. Neither did he register that Dean was struggling to get the thick jacket off of him and a pillow under his head.

Sam drew up his knees, his arms wrapped around his chest as he turned on his left side.

"Sammy ..." Dean whispered, one hand soothing over his forehead and hair and one lying on his bicep. He hushed him softly and kept his touches gentle.

Dean shot the angel a helpless, desperate look.

"I can't, Dean," Castiel spoke up, "I could make it worse ... I already fed it enough ..." The angel stood beside the couch, watching Sam writhing and whimpering, crying for help. "If I try, it may grow."

Dean bit down on the insides of his lower lip and his gaze went back at Sam, who begged him intently to make it stop.

"I'm sorry, Sammy. - I'm sorry ..." Dean watched the muscles and tendons work in the hunter's neck and throat, as he kept on stroking him carefully. "Please," he lowered his head and rested it against's Sam's. "I'm sorry ... I don't know what to do. I don't know how to make it stop," he whispered barely audible. "I'm sorry, baby."

He felt tears prickling in his own eyes as he crept closer to his lover, cradling his head against his own. There was nothing but pure desperation searing through his body and mind. Blind fury at himself because he couldn't help, because he hadn't found a cure yet.

Sam cried out with a new wave of white hot pain shooting through his chest and Dean held onto him desperately, trying to anchor him, giving him something to hold on.

When the cry died away, Dean looked up with red-rimmed eyes, staring at his angel-friend. "We gotta do something. Take him to the hospital, or-"

"Dean." Castiel stopped him. "There is nothing they could do for him. Except-" The angel's eyes widened and he made a step towards the couch, where he leaned over the backrest and laid two of his fingers on Sam's temple. He locked gazes with Dean. "I'm going to put him to sleep," and before Dean could say anything against it, Sam went lax in his arms and a pitiful whimper died on the hunter's lips.

"Cas?" he asked, his voice trembling.

"He is fine," the angel spoke. "Samuel is not feeling anything, I can assure you."

Dean buried his face in silken locks of hair and stroked over the hunter's head gently. He swallowed a sob and sniffed, trying to get his shit together before he'd look up again.

This was all Alistair's fault. That bastard made Sam suffer for years, had made him DO unexpressive things ... and now ... now he was killing him, slowly and painfully in front of his eyes.

That bastard had to pay. _Now_.

Dean rose slowly, the muscles in his body working as his chest expanded and he took in a deep breath to calm his raging temper.

"I'm going to get that bitch down, and I'm gonna rip his damn throat out," Dean ground out through gritted teeth.

He was about to stomp towards the front-door, when Castiel got in his way and laid his hand on the demon's chest. "No, Dean," he said firmly. "We have not found a way to extract the spawn from him." He rose both eyebrows. "And Alistair will not tell us how to do it."  
"We'll see about that," Dean snarled, pure anger bathing in a sea of fiery green circles short before they morphed into obsidian. "He ain't immortal." He tried to pushed past Castiel, but the angel stood strong.

"You aren't either, Dean," he shoved him back as he talked, "Only because he does not know HOW to kill you, does not mean that you are immortal. Summoning Alistair now would mean to have a high-rank demon in the basement. Surely he would be bound, but he has followers. Followers and underlings who will look for him, who will find him. And if he breaks free and not kill you, he will make sure that you can not find or summon him ever again. - The summoning-spell is the ace in our sleeve, Dean. If we mess this up now, Sam will be dead." He paused. "So keep your temper down and focus."

Dean pulled in ragged breaths, just staring at his friend.

"You risk the hunter's life, Dean. We need to do it at the right time," Castiel continued and gave Dean a serious look. "Alistair will NOT tell us how to remove the spawn from Sam. He will NOT cooperate. He will laugh at you, taunt you. Alistair will bask in the blissful feeling of not just hurting ONE person. No. He will get a worked up Dean Winchester on top of it. - So do yourself, the hunter and me a favor and don't go in there half-cocked." He cleared his throat as he glanced over Dean's shoulder towards the couch, before he looked back at Dean. "Sam will not feel any kind of pain. Call me if he wakes up and is still hurting, Dean."  
"And what if he's still hurtin'? What if that's not all? What if he's going to die? What if that's it?" he asked breathlessly.

Castiel's hand dropped to his side and he cast his look down. "When I was in him, I saw it. Sure it fed from my grace, but not enough to speed the process up like this. The spawn was made to let someone die slowly," He looked back up and sighed. "This isn't the end, Dean. This is just the beginning."

The demon choked back a sob. "You're telling me this is getting worse? ... How much worse?"

"I can not answer this question because I do not know." Something on the angel's features told Dean that he was a lying bastard. Castiel knew very well how much worse it would get, he just didn't want to tell him.

Dean huffed out a breath and shook his head in disbelieve. "I hope you're right Cas," he muttered and sniffed.

"Joshua will know what to do. He is one of the oldest. He will help," Castiel said reassuringly and made a step backwards. "You better stay with your ... _friend_ ... and take care of him. I will be back soon."

Angel-wings rustled and then he was gone, leaving Dean standing in the middle of the room, shaking and practically alone with a turmoil of emotions.

_... to be continued_

* * *

  
  


**CHAPTER XV**

_One month later ..._

Dean pulled his black sleek beauty of a 67 Chevy Impala up the driveway of the house and hurried to get out of the car. About five inches of snow had fallen during the night and now covered everything, even the part of the stairs and banister that were hidden under the canopy of the porch.

His warm exhale evaporated in the cold air as he blew out a breath and when he pulled in a deep breath through his nose, the tiny hairs inside froze and tickled. So yeah, it was damn cold and he was late. When he had left this morning, he had told Sam – who had still been in bed – that he'd be back in about three hours and that was two hours ago.

His palm rested on the car's roof for a few long seconds. It felt good to have her where she belonged – with him. The one and only home he'd ever known until ... well, until now. Not that this house was something like his HOME – but Samuel Harvelle was and he was in there, probably already freaking out.

Again his thoughts started to race. He had taken so long to get everything together ... what if something had happened in the meantime? What if the fire had died and Sam hadn't been able to throw logs in it ...

If it wouldn't have been necessary, he wouldn't have left. But they were running out of food and other things they needed – Sam needed. So yeah, he had left Sam halfheartedly and had gone to get stuff.

Shit happens – like snow and slick roads and fucking old women who were trying to get rid of their coins and nickles at the cashiers desks. Not to mention that it was shy a week before christmas and that people were hoarding food like the damn apocalypse was about to happen.

So yeah. All in all it had taken him the better part of five hours to get all the things on his list and come back so that they'd be all good for the upcoming two weeks. AND of course, he'd gotten something for Sam. Something he'd hopefully like.

_~*DW & SW*~_

Sam was sitting in the living-room, one blanket wrapped around his shoulders and one around his legs and lap. He always felt _so_ _cold_ lately. So cold, as if he was freezing from the inside out, no matter how warm it was inside the house.

It was warm, damn warm. Dean took exquisite care to not let the fire die down in the fireplace during the days, since the oil-tank was already empty.

The TV was playing, though Sam didn't regard it at all. His attention was directed at a small open box in his hand, in which an amulet settled on a small cushion of cotton wool. It shimmered golden, though it was made of heavy brass. A horned goddess tied up on a dark-brown leather cord.

He had been carrying it with him since he was a kid. - Actually the only sort of jewelery he owned. The only thing that meant something to him.

They never had a lot money or other things back then, when he was with his mother and barely six years old. An old friend of his mom – Bobby Singer – had given it to him in exchange for a hand full of nickles and cents, barely the worth of five dollars.

That was the most special christmas ever in his life. His mother's eyes had lit up when he had given it to her after she returned far after noon on christmas day from a hunt. She had loved it dearly ... up until the day she died.

It was the only thing left of her except some weapons he had kept. He hadn't ever planned to wear it, or put it to any other use. It had been kept at the very bottom of his duffel-bag for years now ... and though ...

When he heard the low rumble of Dean's car, he hurried up to put it back into the pocket of his sweat pants and leaned back, trying to look normal.

When the door opened, Sam raised his head up and turned it around to get at least a glimpse of Dean. He wasn't surprised at all when he saw the man stomp inside, throw the door shut and made his way – with empty hands – towards him.

"Hey, baby," Dean said with a fond smile and bowed down over him and placed a tender kiss to Sam's forehead.

"I was worried," Sam said calmly, but he could hear the honest worry on the edges of his words.

Dean gave him a warm smile and stole a peck from Sam's lips. "Figured. The streets were icy."  
The hunter shivered at the coldness of the demon's rose lips when they brushed along his once more. "Cold out there?"

Dean nodded and groaned. "It's the freaking Arctis, dude - And people are crazy. I don't get them. Hoarding food for just a few days of the year? I mean ... c'mon. They're acting as if the world is ending." He chuckled and sniffed as he straightened up, his attention flying towards the roaring flames in the fireplace.

Sam pushed himself up into a sitting position and started to unwrap the blanket from his feet. "Give me a sec. - Gonna get my shoes."

Dean cocked an eyebrow at his lover. "What do you think you're doing?"

Sam slipped into his slippers and gazed up at him. "Helping? Getting the bags inside?"

The demon eyed him for a long moment, obviously considering it. "No way- You stay here on the couch, got me? I don't wanna see your scrawny ass out there in the cold." Big green eyes stared down at him warningly. "Don't make me spank you."

A mischievous grin bloomed on the hunter's face. "What if ... I'd like to get spanked?"

Dean huffed out a laugh and turned around. "Sure thing, bitch. _Stay_. Don't make me cuff you again."

Sam pouted. It wasn't like he wasn't able to do things. He just grew tired pretty fast and felt exhausted as hell. It wasn't like he'd drop dead just from carrying a couple of bags from the car into the house, so what was the matter?

He got up nonetheless and when Dean came back inside and sauntered into the kitchen with two full bags, he followed him and started to unpack the groceries and store them in the fridge and shelves.

When all the bags were inside, Dean shed his jacket and dirty boots and moved into the kitchen. He walked up behind his lover and wrapped his arms around Sam's middle, ghosting with his lips along Sam's exposed neck.

He felt the hunter's hip bones standing out a bit more than just a couple of days ago. That was why he high likely prefered to wear the sweatpants instead of his jeans lately ...

Sam shuddered.

"Sammy," he said warningly, "Didn't I tell you to stay put?"

Sam pushed with his butt back against the demon's crotch and chuckled. "You said I shouldn't leave the house. But ... you didn't say anything about getting the groceries stored."

Dean pushed back forward with his hips, pinning Sam against the counter. "You're a pain in the ass."

The hunter smirked, reaching into the bag and placed butter and eggs on the counter before him. "Yeah?"

Dean growled into Sam's ear softly. "Yeah," he breathed, circling his hips.

"You bought eggnog?" he asked, surprised and lurked back over his shoulder as he pulled the bag from the bag.

"For christmas," Dean whispered, "And some Jack to spike it too."

The hunter chuckled and sniffed, suddenly letting go of the eggnog and bracing himself against the counter's surface. There was one hacked off breath and a second one.

"You gotta sit down, baby," Dean whispered, his voice all of a sudden concerned. "C'mon."

Dean pulled back and guided him around, so to have a better look at him, at his face. It didn't look like Sam was in pain, but he sure as hell wasn't fine either.

"Dizzy?" he asked worriedly and laid one of his hands on the younger man's cheeks.

Sam gave him a weak smile. "Nah - Over in a moment or ... two." He was a bit pale though and it felt as if his head was swimming, and he closed his eyes.

"Nuh-uh," Dean's other hand rested on Sam's hip, "Eyes are staying open, Sasquatch."

Of course he obeyed the gentle order and blinked his eyes open again. "News from Cas?"

Dean shook his head. "He's not answering my calls," he said bitterly reminded of how messy their situation was. The angel was supposed to answer, was supposed to come when Dean called for him – he had promised. And for three weeks now there'd been nothing. "He's got a lead or something – otherwise he'd show up and let me know."

Sam suddenly looked pensive. "You know ..." He bit his lower lip. "It's okay though ... I ... I just want you to know that it's okay - No matter what-"

Dean rose a hand to silence him. They weren't talking about this. Not now. Not ever. Because there was a cure and they just had to find it. They weren't talking about Sam dying. No way.

"No matter what's going to happen, Dean. I'm happy." He smiled – so warm and loving. "Right now I'm happy. And even if there's no cure out there ... even then I'm happy. Because I got you. Because if this would've never happened, you know ... I wouldn't have gotten there when I did and dragged you down into the basement ..." He grinned. " If I wouldn't have tied you up."

Dean huffed out a laugh and shook his head. "You're unbelievable, Sam." His gaze landed on the dark scars around Sam's wrists, when the younger man shifted slightly and his face darkened. "I'm sorry," he muttered as he touched the hunter's wrist and took it in his hand. "I'm sorry." He looked up, catching Sam's gaze.

"It's okay. Truce, you remember?" He cleared his throat and attempted to draw his hand away, but Dean held onto it. "You still have nightmares," the demon said knowingly, "You think I don't know, but I do." He swallowed around the growing lump in his throat. "It's the way your face changes, when your muscles grow tense. It's ... I can see it and it's not okay." The Winchester's eyes narrowed when his lover sniffed and blinked, turning his gaze away from him.

Sam then looked down at his own wrist, where the hunter's thumb was brushing along. "You didn't know."

"You didn't know either," he shot back.

This time he let the hunter pull his hand out of his grasp. "I said that it's fine, Dean - Please. I don't wanna talk about it."

Dean nodded and let the hunter turn back around, where he continued to unpack the bags on the counter. He helped Sam in silence, stealing glances at his pensive-seeming lover.

When they were done, Dean put chicken wings into the the oven and joined Sam in front of the TV. He settled in beside Sam and pulled the blanket over his own feet too, not bothered by the fact that he wasn't cold at all. He just wanted to be there – with his boyfriend ... partner ... however they called what they were nowadays.

Sam leaned into him and within ten minutes, Dean leaned against the left end of the corner, while Sam settled against him with his back. The demon pulled the blanket up over Sam's shoulders and held him with both arms, hands resting on Sam's belly. Though, as always, he couldn't keep his hands still – not when the hunter was this close and soft under him.

After a while, Dean's hand drew small circles into the younger man's shirt, rubbing his stomach. Sam shifted, drawing the small of his lower back against the demon's crotch and hummed satisfied, when he felt the man behind him shift and heard him clearing his throat.

"Sammy," he growled - Sammy did it again and Dean groaned. "The chicken wings."

"What about them?" he asked slyly, "Not in the mood?"

Dean cocked an eyebrow. "I'm always in the mood - But there are wings in the oven."

Sam pushed back against him, feeling the zipper dig into the place where his cheeks parted. Dean was getting hard – and fast.

"Not hungry right now," Sam breathed and he circled his hips and reached for Dean's hand, which he guided down to his own croch." Not for wings anyway."

Dean shuddered at the feeling of the giant hand guiding his downwards beneath the waistband of the pants and boxers. Sam was already half-hard beneath the fabric.

"Dammit, Sammy," he groaned, as his fingers wrapped around Sam's shaft. Sam made a little noise, when Dean tugged gently. "You're killing me here," he murmured breathlessly, pushing his hips up against Sam's lower back.

Sam's hand enclosed his and guided him up and down a couple of times until the hunter's manhood lay heavy and rock hard in the demon's hand. "I wanna feel you," Sam breathed, "Let me feel you ... please."

Who was he to refuse Sam's request?

Dean slid with his free hand in between him and Sam. The hunter arched his back up, supporting his weight against the demon's chest, while he fumbled with the belt and zipper of his jeans. Sam moaned when he felt Dean's straining hardness being released of its denim and cotton-clad prison, pushing it up against the small of his back.

A low moan fell from those pouty lips. Dean guided his hand slowly along Sam's length, still covered by the bigger hand. He threw his head back and closed his eyes, relishing the feeling of velvet skin against his palm and the precome-slick slide of his manhood against Sam's crack. He tugged on his own hard length a few times, before his hand started to move down where Sam's butt parted, on the quest for the pink rose of his entrance.

Dry fingers drew small circles around it.

"Sammy ... we gotta ... we need ..." Dean panted breathlessly.

Sam hushed him. "Don't need it," he murmured and pushed back against the finger which rested at his entrance, until it nudged inside.

"Don' wanna hurt you." The demon lifted his head and dropped it forward, so that his nose was resting against the younger man's neck.

"You won't," the hunter shot back, pushing down on the digit some, feeling it entering him with a slight burn.

"No ... Sammy, no." Dean pulled back and let go of the taller man's manhood. "Not like this, okay? I'll be right back." He eased out from under the hunter and went in the kitchen, nearly stumbling over his own feet when his jeans and boxers slid down to his ankles.

Coming back a moment later with a small tube in his hands, which he held up showing it to his lover, he smirked. Sam smiled back up at him, looking a bit embarrassed.

"Turned the wings off though," Dean muttered as he hurried back to the couch and was about to crawl over Sam, when he stopped him with a hand to the demon's forearm.

"No." Sam said looking up with giant eyes and a wicked smile on his face. "Want you like before."

Dean cocked an eyebrow at him, a smile tugging on his lips, tiny dimples growing around his eyes. He did as he was told and slid back in behind Sam, this time without his jeans and boxers on. He snuck his thumbs in Sam's waistband and pulled them down over his butt so to have better access and leverage later on.

Not long after they were just where they had left off. Writhing and bucking against each other's heated bodies, nothing but low moans and aroused noises breaking the silence in the house. Sam found himself seated in Dean's lap soon after, circling his hips slowly, with tiny ups and downs in between. Dean was holding onto the hunter's hips, guiding his movements, biting his lower lip and drawing blood.

He watched Sam sink down on him, taking him in all the way, stretching around his member.

Twenty minutes later, they lay on the couch, Sam on top of Dean, both blissed out and exhausted. Sam snuggled into the demon's chest, one hand resting on his chest, listening to the slowing heartbeats. Dean had the fingers of one hand tangled in the taller man's mop of hair and drew with the other one circles into his back lazily.

Sam sighed contentedly, his lashes brushing against the demon's skin.

Dean answered the sigh with a tender kiss to Sam's head. "'m starving," he murmured into the mop of hair.

The hunter chuckled. "You're always starving."

"You tire me out, baby," Dean stroked over his head. "Gotta keep up the energy."

Sam nudged him in his flank.

Dean nudged him back.

_~*DW & SW*~_

An hour later the chicken wings and salad was done, so were the potato wedges. They both sat in fresh clothes at the kitchen table in front of full plates and while Dean was stuffing his face, Sam was poking around on his plate, shoving its contents from one corner to the other one.

Dean had first ignored the man's eating habits the last couple of days, but it was getting ridiculous. Sam was practically starving before his eyes. He wouldn't touch any of it ... at least it couldn't be called eating, when he consumed just about twenty percent from what was on his plate.

With a worried sigh, Dean leaned back in his chair and cleaned his hands on a napkin, smearing the reddish and brown sauce into it. He swallowed the bite with a gulp of beer, while he eyed Sam.

"'m sorry, Dean." He already knew what he was going to say. "It's ... I can't, okay? I'm sure it tastes perfectly fine and ... and I'm sorry."

Dean pursed his lips, suddenly feeling guilty for wanting to make Sam do something he didn't seem to want or couldn't. Hell, the man looked as if he was disgusted by the food before him. Yesterday he had at least eaten some of the mixed salad.

"It's okay." Dean eyed his own plate, suddenly not feeling hungry anymore either. "I'll put it in the fridge and we'll eat it for dinner." He smiled pensively. "Want some coke?"

Sam nodded with a shy smile. Dean had bought classic coke and not the light one – because he KNEW. Because he had figured it out days before Sam had known that something was up with him, that he was doing worse each passing day now. First, he himself hadn't noticed – or hadn't wanted to notice it anyway. But now there was no denying it anymore.

He was sick and as it looked like he was going to die. So he might as well make the best out of it, spend some more quality time with Dean Winchester and pray that he'd make it until christmas morning to give his partner the present.

_... to be continued_


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter XVI**

_24th December ..._

Dean had been calling for Castiel desperately after one of Sam's episodes last night ... He was damn freaking hoarse and felt as if he was going to implode and explode at the same time.

Not only once he had thought about summoning Alistair in those past five weeks. But then he had remembered Castiel's words and had refused to ruin their plan by a stupid act of his. It wasn't worth risking Sam's life ... if they weren't risking it anyway right the fuck now.

He also had thought about the fact that maybe there was no cure for the spawn. After getting through all those books and countless websites he had come up with nothing new ... and well ... Castiel was nowhere to be found.

He was practically on his own, trying to hold onto the last straw of survival.

Sam seemed to take it more lightly than him. The hunter smiled, he joked and avoided the topic like the plague. He refused to talk about it at least directly. Though, sometimes he'd mention that he felt good and that he enjoyed his time with Dean and that he shouldn't look like someone had stolen his bone or something.

Dean had found some Christmas decoration stuff in the attic and had chopped a pretty scrawny tree from outside close to the house. The fir looked like some green crazy shit monster and it was already starting to loose its needles.

Dean had reassured his lover, that once the decorations were on, the tree wouldn't look that bad anymore – at least as soon as he managed to put the tree into the self-made cross. Sam was pretty amused watching Dean Winchester cursing and sputtering about how useless Christmas and trees and all this stuff was until the tree was standing – in it's full glory – right beside the fireplace.

Of course Sam had helped him decorate the fir and it truly didn't look as bad.

They had turned the tree around, so the bald side would face towards the wall – therefore they could see how weirdly grown its trunk and branches were.

Not that they really cared. Neither of them had ever had such a beautiful Christmas tree in their entire life. They never had that much fun decorating one too.

So it was Christmas Eve and Sam was sitting on the couch, watching Ebenezer Scrooge, a bowl of buttered popcorn in his lap. And damn it, if he hadn't lost a bunch of weight in this single week. Okay, it wasn't THAT much, but it was visible. It was visible for Dean.

"Got Tortilla Chips and salsa!" Dean called out as he entered the room and plopped down beside Sam.

The hunter's eyes lit up and he reached over to steal a hand full of those chips from his lover's bowl and dump it into his own.

"Salsa?" Dean asked, staring at the TV, but held the small bowl with red sauce towards Sam, who scooped up some of it on a tortilla and stuffed it into his mouth with a hum.

Dean inched closer towards Sam and threw his arm over the backrest behind Sam's shoulders.

At the very end of the movie, Sam's head was resting against the demon's shoulder and his eyes were closed, his breathes even. Dean peered down at him, but saw nothing but a mop of dark hair and grinned. He reached over to the bowl of pop corn, which still sat in the hunter's lap and put it on the table, the one with the tortillas in his own lap followed afterwards. He then shifted and inched aside and guided the taller man's upper body sideways, so that his head was settling in his lap and smoothed Sam's hairs back.

"I love you," Dean whispered with a sad expression on his face. He stroked over his hair again and leaned back, staring down at him as if he was the most precious thing on god's earth. "... and I think I've failed you, baby. _We've_ failed you ..." Wetness was glistening in his eyes and he sniffed, feeling a growing tightness around his ribcage and throat. It wasn't that he was giving up – of course not. But it was the thought, that Castiel was MIA and nowhere to be found and not answering his calls, that he might not find something to help them.

And now, that Sam was doing worse each day, he couldn't leave him back at the house either – not on his own at least ... and who should watch over Sam if not him? Who'd be there if Sam had one of those attacks or ... seizures or however to call them?

Sam was depending on him now – he was. And Dean wasn't sure what hurt worse ...

"Aww, c'mon," Sam muttered sleepily, "When you're done with self-loathing you could bring the damn eggnog." A wicked grin formed on his lips and tiny dimples appeared where his lips turned up and his eyelids scrunched together.

"Dude!" Dean called out and nudged Sam against the shoulder. He was too flabbergasted to say anything else – all nasty retorts vanished.

Sam bumped his shoulder into Dean's stomach and chuckled.

"That's it. No alcohol for you." He rose and pushed Sam into a sitting position in the process, glaring at him.

"You can spike mine a bit though!" Sam called after him – still grinning – as he watched Dean stomping out of the living-room, enjoying the few. "Ain't no use for girly nog at christmas!" . _.. not when it's high likely my last one._ But he didn't say it out loud. He couldn't. Not when he knew how Dean suffered. Hell, the guy sometimes cried when he thought Sam was in the bedroom or asleep or whatever ... and Sam didn't like that.

Dean was supposed to carry on afterwards. He was supposed to save innocents and to find someone else he'd like to spend time with, he'd like enough to STAY with. That was what had grown important to Sam over the past couple of days.

Samuel Harvelle didn't count on it anymore that his life was going to be saved, even when there was still a part of him fighting, trying to survive long enough until the angel would return with news about a cure.

Silent footfalls coaxed him out of his thoughts and his gaze swept towards the archway that led into the kitchen. He gave Dean one of his most adorable dimpled smiles and followed him with his gaze until he was seated beside him again, holding two glasses of warmed up eggnog in his hands.

Dean shoved him carefully. Sam nudged him back and took one of the glasses from his hands.

"Thanks," the hunter murmured and took a sip, hissing at the intense afterburn.

Dean chuckled and took a sip himself. He then hummed and took a second one.

"How many shots did you put in there?" It sounded close to a whine.

The demon wiggled his head with a sly grin. "Two shots per glass ... well three in mine, two in yours. Figured you shouldn't down so much alcohol."

Sam took a second sip and let it roam through his mouth, feeling the tender burn on his tongue and the stronger one back in his throat when he swallowed. Despite the sharp taste of Jack, he welcomed the warmth which spread in his chest and belly.

"Perfect," Sam whispered contentedly.

Dean hummed again approvingly and wrapped his arm around Sam's shoulders. "Gotta be."

Sam snuggled into the demon's side and nipped on his eggnog once more, watching as Scrooge met the last one of the three ghosts. Both of them fell silent after that, nothing but the TV and their breaths hearable.

It was a sad silence.

Neither of them dared to say anything about the rich man's dumbness or anything – the realization that one of them was too damn close to meeting his reaper soon, hit them hard – for the first time.

When the movie played out and the credits ran down, Sam emptied his glass and went back to munching tortilla chips and buttered popcorn, while resting his head against Dean's chest and listening to his slow heartbeats. Dean had one of his hand's fingers tangled in Sam's hair and held his head close, while his other one rested on the man's lower arm where he held the bowl of popcorn.

Dean closed his eyes and tilted his head down, to lean his nose into Sam's hair and breathed him in. No matter how hard he'd try, there was no way of keeping his hands off of the hunter – not by a long shot. It was as if he needed to feel him, taste him, SEE him as often as possible. Oh, Dean knew someone could think he was clingy – but if someone asked he'd definitely deny it.

He loved the way his hair smelled, how Sam's eyes lit up whenever he smiled. Dean loved how Sam's skin seemed to come alive under his touch ...

"Dean?" he asked, his voice sleepily.

"Yeah?" Dean glanced down at the mop of hair.

"I don't want to have sex tonight.", Sam said calmly.

Dean stared down at him confused. He hadn't said or done anything, did he? It wouldn't be the first time they wouldn't do IT.

"Okaaaay." His fingers scrubbed gently over Sam's scalp. "You feelin' alright?" Suddenly Dean was concerned.

"Sam nodded into his chest. "Yeah," he answered sleepily, "Just tired I think ... and exhausted. - I think ... I think I'd like to cuddle though ..." It was obviously more of a question.

They were actually cuddling, but Dean would never mention THAT. "'s fine with me, Sweetheart," he said low, "Whatever you want is good."

He could practically SEE Sam's smile. "If you wanna cuddle it's fine – I like cuddling and snuggling even better than actual sex with you ..." It sounded somehow teasing. "... It's not the same anyway. I mean ... yeah, the sex is good – it's fantastic actually, but cuddling? DUDE, no one gets to cuddle a grown out hairy bigfoot like you and- OW!" Dean rubbed his chest, where Sam had poked him a moment before to stop him from babbling.

"Now that I'm thinking about it ..." Sam let the bowl sink to the floor and laid his flat palm over Dean's chest, "...if I'm the bigfoot in our relationship you've to be a bird or something FEATHERY ..."

"Yeah! I'm batman!" Dean called out enthusiastically and threw his arms up in the air.

"I think the third shot in your eggnog wasn't that good of an idea- Besides: Bats don't have feathers," Sam said clinically.

The demon chuckled. " _Geek_."

"Handsome," Sam retorted and shifted under the blanket, pulling his legs up a bit.

"Always knew that I'm the pretty one in our relationship, Frankenstein," Dean murmured mockingly and earned another poke into his rips. "Ouch! Stop that shit!"

"You asked for it, Dean," Sam said nonchalantly. "I'm not Frankenstein."

"No you're not," Dean's voice grew soft, "You're beautiful." He traced with his hand over Sam's cheek – ever so gently – and then brushed with his knuckles over it once more. "And you're mine." He smiled warmly at the man lying against him. "And I won't-"

"Ah!" Sam interrupted him. "You're ruining the mood!"

"'m not! - I just-" Dean whined and huffed out a breath. "There's no mood to ruin."

"There certainly is," Sam shot back and snuggled deeper into his chest. "Bed?"

"Shower first? As long as the water's hot?" Dean asked back. "Maybe ... together?" A smirk grew on his face. "Unless it's too sexy for ya'."

Sam sniffed. He could practically see the smile on Dean's face, all freckles peppering his nose and cheeks.

He had to smile too. "Not if we're cuddling during showering," Sam murmured back.

Dean threw his head back and huffed out a laugh. "There goes gigantor the Sasquatch - All snuggly and cuddly and with those giant puppy-dog eyes ..." His voice trailed off. "... gonna smother me one day with that giant body of yours."

Sam sighed. "You ... you don't like that, do you?" he asked insecurely and somehow SERIOUS, "The _cuddling_ ..."

Dean made a surprised sound and the fingers massaging Sam's scalp stopped abruptly. "I'm just teasing Sam," he whispered softly, "I like it. I really do. He smoothed over Sam's hair and placed a gentle kiss to his head. "I love you, Sammy. _You_." Dean laid his fingers on Sam's chin and tilted his head up, so that he was looking at him. "I love you, you hear me? You gotta know that, man." He kissed his forehead and brushed with his lips along the back of Sam's nose to it's tip and kissed it too, leaning his forehead against his. "I like everything we're doing. EVERYTHING you want to do. And IF there'd ever be something I wouldn't like I'd tell you. We'd talk about it and we'd sort it out." He paused, his words heavy with truth and emotion. "This's the best time since I'm topside again. There's nothing I'd want to miss. Nothing. Most of all not you, baby," he sealed his lips over Sam's, just his lips – no tongue, no teeth.

Sam kissed him back and snuggled back into the demon again, tucking his head under Dean's chin. "Me too, Dean," he whispered and closed his eyes. "We gonna get in the shower now?"

Dean could feel him smile against his chest and he nodded. "Sure thing."

Though they stayed like that a little longer. Sam huddled close to Dean's body and Dean holding Sam even closer in a tight embrace.

Eventually they got up, Dean helping Sam with one hand under his elbow to not lose his balance on the way upstairs. It was definitely colder up there, where they didn't have the proximity of an open fireplace. So Dean decided for the both of them to hurry their shower up, since he didn't want the hunter to catch some nasty virus or cold on top of everything else.

He then helped Sam undress and let him walk into the shower-stall, he followed short after and stepped under the hot spray of water behind his lover. They kept their touches casual but tender and loving.

When they were showered, Dean jumped into a comfortable pair of sweatpants and a tee before he helped Sam, who was struggling to get his mile-long legs into the pants. By the time Dean was there and kneeled down before the taller man, Sam was already panting and sweaty and didn't look good at all.

"Let me." Dean whispered and took the pants from Sam's hands. "You just try and ... just don't pass out on me, okay?"

Sam only nodded.

When they had finished up in the bathroom, they crept under the covers of their bed, Sam immediately finding himself as the little spoon against Dean's back and strong arms wrapped around him tightly. Not that he could complain, or that he felt embarrassed. Maybe he would have three months ago – before all of this had started. But now? Now he was happy as it was and when it meant that he'd be the little spoon in this relationship he certainly obliged.

Maybe because knowing that he was going to die, set some things in his life into perspective. Besides – it felt kind of nice to be the one who's being protected instead of being the protector himself. Maybe letting things go that weren't tactile eased some of the tension, which had stowed up inside of his mind and body over the years.

So yeah. Sam smiled. He was happy. He felt safe. He felt loved. He intertwined his fingers with Dean's as they rested on his belly and made a small sound of comfort, as he tilted his head back to rest it against the pillow and Dean's chin.

_~*DW & SW*~_

Dean groaned and sniffed and made an unhappy sound back in his throat. The early light of dawn was falling through the frozen window straight into his face and it screwed up at the sudden awareness of daylight, which shone through his closed lids.

Though, that wasn't quite what had woken him up in the first place. It was more because it kind of felt as if something was missing ... something important ... His mind was still too sleepdrunken to put its finger on it YET. Not that he minded that bad anyway. He was warm and comfortable, as he lay with his head in the pillows, on his stomach, stretched out on the bed– in its middle

ALONE.

_... to be continued_

* * *

  
  


**CHAPTER XVII**

Realization struck him like thunder in a storm and he twisted and turned until he lay on his back, bolting upright into a sitting position. Dean's head spun with the sudden movement, as his gaze darted through the room, his hands to his left and right from him, feeling the coolness of the sheets below.

"Sammy?" he croaked out, one eye squeezed shut as he tried to get a better focus on the room itself since his vision was still blurry. Though, the panic creeping up on him set his senses in overdrive.

There was no answer.

He jumped out of bed the moment the name left his lips and padded towards the bathroom. Though the door was closed and the lights on, the room was empty.

He took a deep calming breath. How had that little brat managed to sneak out on him? Sneak out from UNDER him? How could he even ... Dean took another deep inhale of cool air and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to get his spinning mind back under control.

Why the hell had he allowed himself to fall asleep anyway? He knew why: For one, because he didn't think that Sam'd go very far and second he either thought that he wouldn't go _anywhere_ WITHOUT Dean, dammit. He could lying unconscious somewhere, or could've fallen down the stairs ... this wasn't something to take lightly. Sam was doing a whole lot worse and there were definite signs of his body shutting down ...

Dean turned towards the closed door of the bedroom and ripped it open. Instantly the sweet scent of waffles crawled up his nose and made an attempt to fog his brain and turn it into blissed out mush. Though he found the strength to withstand the alluring odor.

Then there were muffled voices. Dean's face turned hard and blank, only his forest-green eyes gave the concern behind them away.

One of those voices was definitely Sam's. So he stood and listened – HARD.

The hunter didn't seem concerned or afraid. It felt like ... he was relaxed, _maybe_?

The second voice sounded familiar too – he knew he should know the owner of it, but he'd be damned if ...

"Cas?" he murmured and that realization set his mind and body in overdrive. He ran down the stairs, taking two at a time and practically threw himself arund the corner and into the kitchen.

Sam turned around with wide flabbergasted eyes and stared at Dean, with a plate of waffles in his hands. Castiel stood only mere inches away from his lover and was facing him too.

"Sam?" Dean's brows were knitted together in worry and he sounded kind of scared. Then he looked at Castiel and straightened up, putting on a mask of pissed-off-Winchester. "Where the hell have you been?!" he spat at his angel-friend.

Castiel smiled a little smile.

"He found the cure," Sam answered for him and walked over to the table, where he put the plate down. He looked up under long dark bangs of hair, still smiling. "He knows how to do it." There was this glint of hope – TRUE hope in his hazel-green eyes. An expression, Dean could just explain as simply breathtaking. This smile – no matter how small it seemed – it enlightened the whole damn kitchen AND it made him smile back.

Dean opened his mouth to speak, but Sam stopped with with a raised hand. "Breakfast first," he said calmly and sat down at the table, looking up at Dean and then at Castiel in a questioning manner. "Please?"

"He's got the cure. I don't need to eat. - I ... WE gotta go. We need to-" Dean started to babble, but stopped when he saw a flash of hurt and disappointment cross the hunter's face. They had waited that long ... what would thirty minutes or an hour at most mean?

"We need to talk," Castiel finished his friend's sentence. "It is not an easy task."

At that, Dean's face darkened and his eyes narrowed, though without changing into obsidian.

Sam took the first waffle from the plate and put it on his own, he then poured himself some coffee in to a mug, added sugar and milk and then looked up. "It's Christmas. Okay? I ... I don't want to spend today on my own. I don't want to see you leave." Sam's expression was serious but soft. "Maybe you guys think I'm stupid or somethin' ... but ... It's the first real Christmas in a long time and I would give everything for it to end it like one too. Besides ... I haven't given Dean his present yet." He smiled sadly and ripped a piece off of the waffle and stuffed it into his mouth. "Whatever you're going to plan ... please ..." he spoke, his mouth full. Sam swallowed the chunk of food down and eyed Dean warily with giant eyes, "PLEASE ... do it tomorrow, okay? I'm not gonna drop dead here and now – we all know that." He cast his look down at his plate. "Just today, okay? I wanna spend this day with Dean, and tomorrow ... tomorrow's gonna be tomorrow." He eyed the angel pleadingly.

Dean sighed heavily and blew a deep breath out through his nose, seeming to think about Sam's words – considering them – digesting them. He didn't look at Sam during that, and when he was looking back up, he didn't seem very satisfied with the suggestion. Not at all.

"Okay," he said hoarsely and walked over to the table, right beside Sam, placed a lingering kiss on those soft lips and took a seat too. "Me and Cas're gonna have a chat outside later on and ... whatever we're going to do we'll do it tomorrow." A decision was made.

He was so not okay with it but Sam seemed to need it. Needed this. It was important to the hunter, so it had to be important for him too.

"Thanks." Sam said and gave him a bright smile – a childlike smile.

If this meant that much to HIS Sam it was worth waiting. A day more or less wouldn't hurt anyone ... at least he hoped his decision wouldn't kick him in the ass later on.

Dean blew out another heavy sigh and nodded – more to himself than to anyone else. He truly hoped he wouldn't regret waiting another day, when they high likely could get the show on the road right the freaking shit now.

So yeah. Dean took two of the waffles, drowned them in maple-syrup and whipped cream and ravished them like a starving man. Castiel pursed his lips at the golden-brown bakery before him and eyed it as if it was some miracle. He then found himself a place at the table right next to Sam.

He bit back his remark about angels and that they didn't need to eat, just like Dean said nothing about the fact that he didn't have to eat either.

It seemed only appropriate to do what Sam and Dean were doing, so he ate too and found out that this piece of human food smelled and tasted delicious and made him feel warm from the inside out.

"How are you doing, Samuel?" Castiel asked, as he watched him from the corners of his eyes when, noticing that Sam wasn't even half through his waffle and already started to slow down.

The hunter swallowed hard on the bite in his mouth and shrugged. "I'm good."

"You do not look good," the angel pointed out as he worked on the bottle of maple-syrup to open it up.

Dean reached over the table, snatched the bottle from the angel's hands and popped it up, giving him a glare. "We are okay. - Sam's okay."

Castiel took the bottle back while exchanging glances with Dean. Sam acted as if he didn't see the concern on his lover's face.

"I'm doing okay, Cas. Thank you," he said, smiling a sad smile as he laid his fork and knife down. "You've found a cure. As soon as we've done whatever it is, I'll be good."

They then ate in silence. When they were done, Sam was about to rise and reach for Dean's and Castiel's plate, but didn't come far as a wave of dizziness washed over him and threatened to push him face down onto the table, hadn't it been for his lover's fast reflexes to catch him.

"You sit down," Dean pushed him back into the chair and rose.

Sam swayed a bit, reaching for his chest and closed his eyes, trying to will the pull and dizziness away. He felt it now nearly constantly. The pull. The dull ache. The dizziness. The dryness in his mouth and nose and the silent ringing in his ears.

It wasn't fun, but he didn't feel like he was too bad off either. So he sucked it up, just like a hunter was used to.

In those short episodes, when he wasn't able to keep his mask on, Dean was able to see the full extent of the hunter's current state. The way his face scrunched up and lines of distress showing.

He KNEW without Sam having to tell him.

"You better lay down," Dean said, watching him closely for a moment, before he spoke up again, "Couch or bed?"

Sam's eyes fluttered open and his lips formed into a tight line. "Couch?" he answered questioning, "Wanna give you your present."

Dean blew out a breath through his nose and nodded. "Fine with me."

Eventually Sam settled down on the couch in a lying position, a blanket over his legs and torso up to his armpits. He exhaled a shuddering breath of relief when he lowered his head onto the pillow.

Castiel stood beside the couch, looking lost. "I -"

"You'll stay too, right?" Sam asked blinked up at him with giant eyes. "It's Christmas. I'd like you to have somewhere to stay for today. With us?"

"I do not believe that I have time to-" Confusion bloomed on the angel's face. He looked at Dean, who glared at him warningly. "Angels do not -"

Sam nodded disappointed. "It's okay. You don't have to."

There were a few beats of awkward silence, until Dean cleared his throat, still hovering over his lover.

"I'm gonna have a talk with Cas," he whispered and stole a peck from his lips before he straightened up and waved at the angel to follow him.

They made their way outside on the porch and Dean closed the door gingerly behind them.

"So ... What's the cure, Cas?" he asked without stalling.

The angel sighed heavily. "It is not as easy as I hoped it would be." He cleared his throat, blue eyes staring right into forest-green ones.

"Where have you even been that long? Sam's not doing very well as you high likely recognized."

Castiel continued to stare at his friend. "Yes, Dean. I saw it. And I may apologize for not informing you regularly, but I was busy. - There have been quite some hindrances to pass."

Dean nodded, feeling a pang of guilt in his guts. He stemmed his hands into his waist and waited for Castiel to continue.

"It is a serum, which has to be injected into the human's heart." The angel pulled a small bottle with dark-green liquid from his trenchcoat-pocket and held it towards Dean.

The demon eyed the bottle curiously before he took it and held it up to have a closer look at the liquid inside.

"There are two ingredients missing." Castiel locked his gaze with Dean.

"That'd be?"

"Blood of an angel and one of the demon who implanted the spawn into Sam's chest." he answered straight away.

Something about the angel's voice and his behaviour seemed off.

"There's something you ain't telling me, is it?" Dean needed to know everything.

A short nod from the angel followed. "Yes, there is. – It could potentially kill Samuel Harvelle. This fluid is toxic. It includes belladonna in a high dose and shadow-rout. I can not guarantee that he will live, since I am not sure what it would do to the spawn when it comes into contact with my grace. Based on the last time and the fact that it hit a growth spurt, IT could survive the poison by taking its power from my interfering if I try to heal Samuel."

Dean swallowed around the building lump in his throat and nodded. Then he shook his head and nodded again as if he wasn't sure what to say about that. "Cure, huh?" he huffed out, "Rather looks lik he's gonna die either way." Yes, Dean Winchester was angry and disappointed. He had been waiting for a cure, not for THIS. "Does he know?"

"I told him, that it will be risky and that there is the possibility of dying anyway," his friend gave back matter-of-factly. "I am sorry that I could not find another way to heal him, Dean," now he sounded a bit emotional, even his eyes turned kind of sad ...

Dean wiped over his face and clenched his teeth together as his lips screwed up in a mixture of fury and fear. He wanted to punch something ... _desperately_.

That was the reason why Sam didn't want him to take off right then. He wanted a last day with Dean in case things went south and he'd die. Sam wanted to be with him for one more day – for at least one Christmas.

All of a sudden he felt nauseous and bile rising in his throat and before he knew it, he was hanging over the banister and puking into the snow below him. Never in this life – nor in his former one – had he felt like this. Powerless. Useless.

All he could do was try and fail anyways.

This wasn't fair. Not to Sam. Not to him. It wasn't fair for anyone.

He clutched the small glass-bottle in his hand and he heaved in a breath after another. He told himself that this had to work, that they were going to save Sam's life tomorrow, and that the two of them would have masses of time afterwards for everything they wanted to do or try.

"Dean," Castiel spoke up softly, "There is something else we need to talk about." He paused and waited for Dean's attention. "I need to go with you for this. We only have one try on summoning Alistair – he will not be able to escape from the two of us."

Yeah, sounded like an overkill, but Dean was right. If they failed, Sam'd die – alone, without any help around.

"Samuel thinks he will be good on his own for one day or two," Castiel said, "I can not trust his evaluation of the situation when it is coming from him. - Do you think he will be able to stay here on his own?"

Dean thought about it for a moment. Sure, Sam was weak, but not that weak. Recalling how slowly the sickness affected him, he thought it was manageable for his partner. Then again ... if he had one of his attacks in the bathroom or anywhere else when he was on his own ... when there was no one around to catch his fall, or check on him regularly ...

He blew out a pensive breath and frowned. Sam felt when attacks were coming, Dean was sure about that. The past couple of times, the hunter went upstairs to lay down BEFORE the pain got too intense.

The one thing that bothered Dean the most was, that Sam would be _alone_. _Alone_ while he suffered the pain, with no one to hold him or comfort him ... THAT was a giant issue for Dean. Because he wouldn't be there to ride it out with his lover ...

_~*DW & SW*~_

Castiel filled a vial with his own blood within moments, just by holding it in his hand and handed it over to Dean, who stored the antidote and the blood in the fridge once he was inside the house again. First he had thought he could mix them together instantly, but the angel had reminded him, that it was never that easy. The blood must be added after the demon's ... so to purify the antidote or some shit Castiel had said.

When he came back into the living room, Sam was already sitting and holding something in his hands which he turned between his fingers.

"Castiel's gone?" Sam asked quietly.

"Yeah ... you know ... looking for a good place ... and preparing things ..." Dean answered hesitantly as he walked towards the couch and set down beside Sam. "Think he's not that good at this Christmas stuff ..." Dean watched Sam's profile, before his gaze dropped into the man's lap, where he was turning a small box over and over. "Me neither ..." He cleared his throat. "He told you?"

Sam nodded to himself and sighed heavily. "Yeah ... kinda ... Told me that it's about some kind of antidote and ... well," He huffed out a laugh. "It might kill me."

The demon looked aside for a moment. "We've got today though, right?"

Sam smiled a sad smile, without looking up. "We've today." He blinked and caught Dean's gaze, holding it. "We've today, just in case. It doesn't mean that it won't work and that I'm gonna die. ... It's just ..."

"It's Christmas," Dean finished it for him, no clue if he was right or not. "And I'm the luckiest guy in the whole damn world." He offered Sam a small smile and the hunter could do nothing else but throw it right back at him with an extra set of dimples.

Sam sighed and stopped to turn the box in his hands over. He held it towards Dean. "I thought about making it a bit more romantic ... but then came Cas ... and ... well ... Anyway." Sam swallowed nervously, his look darting in between the box in his hand and Dean, who tentatively reached for it. "I want you to have this. - It's unique. One of a kind ... like you ..." He smiled warmly, watching Dean carefully as he unwrapped the box from the newspaper and opened it slowly.

There were deep dimples digging in the corners of Dean's eyes and his lips curled up into a giant goofy smile. "Wow .." he muttered and took the amulet, holding it up at the leather cord to have a closer look at it. "That's ... that's awesome," Dean called out, his eyes sparkling and glistening with emotions.

Sam's smile widened. "You like it?" he asked, his cheeks turning a bright crimson red.

"Dude, I LOVE it!" And that was that. The words had been barely over his lips and he brushed the amulet on its leather cord over his head and wrapped Sam up in his arms, holding him tight. "It's beautiful," he whispered into his lover's ear, trying to hold back tears.

Sam chuckled shyly and slowly laid his hands on Dean's back, holding him too.

"It's the best thing ever, Sammy," he murmured and closed his eyes, placing a single tender kiss to the curve of Sam's neck.

Sam melted into him, breathing deeply through his nose to get as much from the alluring scent of the demon into him, memorizing him. He laid his head on Dean's shoulder and held him close – so close.

Dean's hold on him was tight, may a bit too tight, but he didn't care. He cared neither, that one of the solid horns were digging into his skin. It felt good ... so good. There was so much joy in the demon's voice, in HIM.

Dean LOVED his present ... "I love you, baby," he whispered, placing another kiss to the sensitive skin, "I ..." He pulled back and cradled Sam's face in his palms, "I have something for you too." He smiled, his eyes wet. "it's just ..." He seemed to think.

"It's okay. - Whatever it is, it's gonna be perfect."

Dean seemed to hesitate. "You ... you think you're up for a little walk outside? - Later though, 'kay? When you've some of your strength back and when I've managed to fire up the fireplace?"

"Sure thing," he said, "I'm ready when you are."

Dean pulled him close once more and kissed him passionately on his lips, jaw and neck, until Sam found himself wrapped up in a pair of arms again. He blew out a breath, a small noise falling from his lips.

He'd miss this – he thought – when he'd die, when he'd have to leave. He'd miss Dean, the warmth ... everything. Sure he wouldn't say such a thing out loud, because he knew it'd hurt his lover, but it was true. Who knew what was waiting for the dead on the other side? Heaven? Hell? Or simply NOTHING?

Sam didn't lie to himself. He knew he had done some pretty bad things. Maybe he deserved to end up in hell, burning for eternity.

Dean pulled away with a soft smile and stole a peck from Sam's lips, before he stood up, one of his hands lingering on his shoulder.

"You stay put, okay? - I'm taking care of the fire," Dean said softly, but with a warning undertone in his voice.

"Yes sir," Sam answered – wearing his smug grin again, whenever Dean would bark (mostly when he was very very concerned about Sam) at him and Sam'd answer with a " _Yes, sir._ " or " _Of course, sir."_.

Dean gave him a look. "I mean it."

Sam chuckled. "Me too," he muttered to himself.

_~*DW & SW*~_

While Sam watched some crappy Christmas TV, Dean made fire, brought logs inside and stacked them up to a tower beside the fire-place. He then made another pot of coffee and a mug with hot chocolate for Sam, which he brought into the living room for later on.

"You ready?" Dean asked, without sitting down.

Sam tore his gaze away from the TV and looked up at Dean with a genuine smirk. "Sure. Where are we going?"

Dean pursed his lips, staring down into a sea of hazel and green and brown flecked eyes. "Just outside. You gotta sit on the porch and watch."

"Watch what?" Sam asked curiously.

"Promised you something, baby boy, didn't I?" Now Dean smirked back at him cockily. "And If you're a good boy I'm gonna let you touch." He wiggled his eyebrows.

Sam huffed out a laugh and rose from the couch slowly. An idea bloomed in the back of his mind – which included WINGS. "So ... you're gonna give me a lap dance?" He bumped his fist into the demon's bicep.

"Ow, dude." He tilted his head to the right side. "Maybe?"

While Sam got dressed in boots, a hoodie and his parka, Dean only pulled on his shoes, gathered the blanket from the couch and waited at the front door for Sam to be done. They then headed outside with Dean leading the way.

The demon spread the blanket over the steps of the porch and gestured Sam to sit down on it. He did and pulled the loose ends of the blanket over his legs and lap and hid his hands beneath it.

Dean placed a lingering kiss on his forehead, one of his hands cupping Sam's cheek, who leaned into the warm touch.

"So ... no lap dance?" he teased and sniffed, his warm exhale evaporating in the cold air.

"Better," Dean answered and put a good five yards in between himself and the last step of the porch, where Sam's giant feet looked out under the blanket. "Just watch and see!" he called.

Sam chuckled and followed the bowlegged demon with his gaze. He knew this wouldn't be a lapdance or something like that – he was getting to see the man's wings ...

Dean shed his button down shirt and let it drop in the snow. His tee-shirt followed right after. Sam watched the well tanned skin in bright daylight, musing the curve of back, the two slits in it, reaching from the inner side of his shoulder-blades down to the small of his back, guarded by strong lines of muscles on either side.

There was a bit of baby fat right under dean's belly button, that soft part Sam liked to lay his hands on ... His cheeks flushed from the cold air and _something_ else ...

Sam blew out a breath. "Duh." Dean Winchester looked like a god.

Dean turned around to show Sam his front and smiled at him over the distance, taking a couple of deep inhales and expand his ribcage, before he turned back around to show him the real thing. He arched his back and curled it forward, two fluffy tips parting the slits in between his shoulder blades.

Sam's eyes widened in awe and a bit of shock as he watched the limbs make their way to the light of day. Slowly they grew and soon there were the first feathers visible.

He wondered if this hurt – if it was uncomfortable, or if it felt good to free them. He wondered so many things ... How they'd feel if he'd touch them ...

Soon, a pair of giant feathery limbs glistened in dark grey and lighter shades in the first rays of the winter sun. It looked stunning, when Dean extended them to their full size and moved them as if they had fallen asleep and needed to get feeling back in them.

Sam rose slowly and let the blanket drop back on the steps. The snow under his shoes crunched, following Dean's trail to where he stood until he stopped about a yard away from him. He extended his hand slowly, but pulled it back again as he realized what he was about to do.

Dean lurked back over his shoulder, watching Sam's face and all the emotions playing over it. His eyes were so bright and stunning in the daylight, it made him shiver and the wings rustle.

"It doesn't hurt, Sammy. You can touch them." He smiled.

Sam tore his gaze away from the feathery limbs to a pair of forest-green bright eyes and made a tentative step closer, before he rose his hand again. He ghosted with his fingers over the upper curve, feeling the silken surface against his palm.

Dean bit back a moan at the tender contact and closed his eyes. He had to bite his lower lip, when his lover's fingers slid in between the feathers to where they used to disappear in the sensitive skin.

"Do they hurt?" Sam asked softly as he caressed them, "I mean ... when they grow?" His eyes flickered towards Dean's.

He shook his head. "No ... it's ... it feels like sittin' too long in one position and your leg grows numb. It feels good ... when you do this." Dean smiled back over his shoulder.

Sam bowed down and snuck through under the wings, one hand resting on Dean's waist so not to lose his balance. He came up right in front of the demon's personal space, just inches away from his lips.

"When I do this?" Sam's voice was hoarse.

Darkening forrest-green eyes met hazel-ones. Sam closed the distance between them, one hand still on Dean's waist, and the other one reaching out to touch the feathery limp gently. Dean's eyes fluttered shut and there was a silent noise coming from his throat, when Sam tangled his fingers in the soft feathers at the very top of the wing.

"Good," Dean's voice trembled. "It feels good." GOOD was an understatement. Sam's touch went straight from his spine to his manhood.

Sam closed the distance between the two of them and tilted his head down, finding his lover's lips. So soft, pink cushions. He felt Dean's arms wrap around his middle and pull him into him.

"You're my angel," Sam whispered against the demon's lips. "They are beautiful. - You are beautiful ..."

"Yeah ... fuck handsome," Dean breathed and found himself sealing his lips back over Sam's. "I'm beautiful." It sounded cocky and sly and so wrong but so right.

Sam couldn't hold back a chuckle. "I mean it."

Dean pulled back a bit and looked up at Sam, who was smiling back at him. He always smiled these days – mostly a facade he figured. No, he knew that it was a _facade_. Because Sam _smiled_ now – really smiled. His eyes, his lips – and those adorable dimples all over his face. Priceless.

The lines on Sam's face changed slowly into something uncomfortable. His brows furrowed and pulled together in a tight line, so did his lips.

"Dean ..." he said and it didn't take more than that.

"We should get inside, huh?" Dean felt tension crawl into Sam's body. It wasn't much, but enough to let him know what was going on.

Sam just nodded and made a step back. "Yeah ... 'm sorry ... I-"

Dean pulled him into a gentle kiss again. "It's okay," he said with a tender smile, "We'll make out later on." He winked at Sam, his eyes glistening mischievously.

The hunter shoved him playfully in response. "You sure? Do I get to play with your wings too?"

All he earned was a surprised and rather curious glare, followed by a grunt and a pensive expression on Dean's face as if he truly considered Sam's suggestion.

_... to be continued_

* * *

  
  


The song text to " _Hallelujah_ " is taken from John Bon Jovi.

 **WARNINGS** : There will be explicit content once again (like ... sex). Uh and bittersweet teeth-ruining shmoop and fluff with a vanilla frosting and a candy cane on top.

  
  


**CHAPTER XVIII**

Dean had made up a nice soft fort made of mattresses in front of the fireplace, with blankets and comforters and pillows. Dean had placed a hi-fi system (Sam had no clue where he had gotten that thing from. At least it looked a bit old, but there was already a cd-deck, so it couldn't be THAT old. It surely was a second-hand thing though) under the Christmas tree and inserted a tape, which he let wind back.

Sam sat in front of the stove, watching the boiling bubbles on the surface of the stew inside a big pot. He leaned back and blew out a long breath. Every now and then he stirred the pot and made sure it wouldn't scorch at the bottom.

"Think the stew's ready!" he called out and turned the knob on zero and pulled the pot from the heating-plate onto the cool one.

"Fine!" came Dean's muffled voice back from the living room.

They had planned a few days ago to construct a makeshift bed in the living room, since it was growing pretty cold upstairs. Obviously Dean had finally decided that it was time to settle in in the living room.

They ate their lunch in comfortable silence. Sam managed to eat most of his bowl with a small piece of bread. All the while he was busy to distract Dean from eating beneath the table with one of his feet rubbing up and down his lover's calf and inner thigh.

Dean didn't even blink. His eyes simply darkened slowly.

So Sam wasn't quite sure if his plan on seducing him would even work. Not when they actually knew that there was a cure and there were surely a whole lot of other things ghosting around in the demon's mind at the moment.

At least that was how Sam would feel if he had to plan on capturing a high rank demon so save Dean's life ...

Something in his chest tightened and an aching pull tore at his heart. Immediately he pushed the thought aside and tried to think about Dean, and how he'd feel against him, naked and horny like teenagers.

Sam leaned back and closed his eyes, drawing in a careful breath. He couldn't use one of those attacks right now. It was Christmas day and there was no way he'd mess this up. THIS could be his last day conscious enough to do this – to do everything he wanted. It might be the last time he'd have a chance to spend his time with Dean in peace ...

So nope, there was no screwing around with this.

No matter how hard he tried, Dean noticed it anyway and shooed him into the living room towards the mattresses on the floor. After Sam had settled down there, and throwing some more logs into the fire, he went back into the kitchen, did the dishes and went back to him.

"Comfy?" he asked, as he strode past the Christmas tree, the amulet dangling around his neck. Dean grabbed it and let it disappear under his shirt before he kneeled down and went under the blanket beside Sam.

He'd be damned if he let the hunter know that the amulet would clank against his lips or teeth each time he bowed down.

"Yeah. It's better – and warmer." He smiled at him and snuggled closer as soon as Dean lay flat on his back, opening his arms to let him inch even closer, until Sam was using his chest as a pillow. Long thin fingers tangled in the fabric of Dean's shirt. "It's fantastic."

"So ... nap time," Dean murmured and kissed him on the forehead.

"You'll stay with me?" he asked cautiously.

"Sure. Nowhere I'd rather be right now." He smiled against the warm skin.

Sam drifted off to sleep short after, while Dean stayed wide awake trying to make up a plan in his mind of how this was meant to go down. He could barely think about anything else since this morning – since he knew he'd need Alistair's blood to cure Sam, without even being sure if it'd work.

He sighed.

This was so screwed up.

He didn't want to make it worse for Sam, but neither did he want to lose him ...

_~*DW & SW*~_

When Sam woke two hours later, Dean was still there, under him, for once being the little spoon in their universe. He had his arm still wrapped around Sam's back and was drawing small circles into the thick material of his hoodie.

"Bad dream?" Dean asked warily, well aware that Alistair was still haunting Sam – just in a different way. He couldn't do anything about these kind of dreams. These were normal dreams, helping the human's mind to sort things out.

Sam nodded sleepily into his chest and shifted a bit beside him. "Yeah."

"Wanna talk about it?" he offered.

Sam shook his head. "No." He cleared his throat, in an attempt to not sound as miserable as he felt. "It's ..." He sighed. "It's not real. Just dreams," he answered as if to reassure himself that it had been _just_ a dream.

Sam hadn't thought that memories of those torturing dreams would still haunt him later on. He had never wasted a thought that Alistair would be able to screw up his mind and let him wake up with a gasp and terrible fear. Somehow he had thought that it'd be over when the counter-spell was done.

These dreams, he could handle. At least he told himself so. They weren't real. Just fabrications of his mind to handle what had happened to him. He knew that. And knowing that he wasn't completely alone with it helped a lot – more than he had thought it could.

"You know you can talk to me, 'kay?" Dean's flat palm pressed down between his shoulder blades.

"Yeah." He smiled into Dean's chest. "Thanks."

There was comfortable silence for a couple of moments. "How long?"

"A couple of hours. Ain't four yet. - What's on your mind? Something special you wanna do?" he asked softly as if they were spending their – MAYBE – last day together.

Sam thought for a moment. "Nope," he said, "Just stayin' here with ya'."

Somehow that didn't feel very satisfying for Dean. The thought that they'd spend their – MAYBE – last day together, just lying here and doing nothing, listening to each other breathe didn't sound AWESOME at all – at least not at first. But after letting his lover's words sink in, he thought it wasn't that bad of an idea after all.

Just being together, doing nothing special ... yeah, Dean could live with that.

"Except ..." Sam spoke up after a moment, there was something sly in his voice, "... we could make out. You said we would ... and then we could have sex for HOURS. OVER and OVER again ..." He made a wet slurping noise.

THAT was so not fair to Dean ... and on the little Winchester downstairs. He had planned something for tonight and ... well he didn't doubt that Sam meant what he was saying, but he also knew that he wasn't up for something like that. At least not yet – not until he was cured and had enough time to recover from his current state. So talking about a whole night of sex and making out sounded definitely awesome, but it was nothing Dean thought the hunter could handle right now.

On top of that he surely wouldn't want to go too hard on Sam, since he was barely capable of walking downstairs anymore without getting completely out of breath.

That was that. So nope. He would withstand and he would wait. Sam had to wait.

Dean cleared his throat gingerly and stared blankly at the ceiling, trying to recall the ugliest things he had ever seen.

"That's gross, you know that?" Dean asked and made a face.

"Sex?" Sam asked curiously.

"No ... this ... this NOISE." Dean tried to make the same one as Sam had, but failed somehow and nearly choked on his own spit as he tried to copy his lover's slurping noise.

Sam burst out laughing. "You never saw _The Walking Dead_ , did you?"

Dean coughed.

"Nope. Do you? I mean ... c'mon, you sure see a whole lot of ugly shit yourself, don't you?" Every topic that didn't include sex was perfect. Specially zombies. There was nothing uglier than zombies. "Why are you watching _TWD_? They all die, don't they? That's depressing. You think you found a character you can rely on ... and then they _die_. That's so NOT okay. And this Rick-Guy? Honestly? Seeing his dead woman? Send them the Winchesters and the thing is done."

"HA! I knew it!" Sam called out and slapped Dean on the shoulder. "You're a FAN!" Sam thought for a moment. "Who're the Winchesters?"

Dean huffed out a breath. "You're not that much of a reader are you?" He asked, eying Sam curiously as he just earned a questioning look. "The Supernatural Books? ... by Edlund Carver? ... You know _those brothers_?"

Sam shrugged. "Nope. Never heard about it."

"And you call yourself a geek." Dean muttered and shook his head in disbelieve.

"I read the good stuff. Anna Karenina, Oliver Twist ..." Sam explained a bit upset. "I don't read cheap novelettes."

"Sounds like porn to me." Dean pursed his lips.

He earned a nudge in his ribs.

"Ouch, dude. What's that for?", he nearly whined.

Sam shrugged. "You're being a dick, that's why."

"I do have a dick, doesn't mean that I am one," Dean said, trying to sound upset. "Samantha."

There was a beat of silence.

"What about ... Cookies? Are there some left?" Sam asked.

"You didn't read the Supernatural Books. You sure you deserve Cookies?" his lover asked teasingly.

"You compare Anna Karenina and Oliver Twist with Porn. - You're the one who doesn't deserve cookies at all," Sam shot back and rolled over on his back smirking. "NOT at all. JERK."

"Bitch," Dean muttered as he rolled into a sitting position and pushed himself up from the mattress.

"You're gettin' the cookies now?" Sam asked, as he watched him leave.

"Maybe ... maybe not." Dean called back.

Sam sank back into the mattress and groaned, stretching his arms over his head. _Sure_ Dean was getting him cookies.

"Hello Samuel," a voice cut through moments of comfortable silence and the sound of the cookie box being opened.

The hunter jackknifed up into a sitting position, sucking in a raged breath, his heart jumping into overdrive.

"Cas?!" Sam shrieked out shocked and surprised.

Sam saw a trench coat, black trousers and a blue tie. A pair of blue eyes smiling down at him.

"Cas?!" Dean's voice was heard from the doorway. "Something wrong? Thought you ..."

"I wanted to inform you that everything is set up. I found a quiet place away from civilisation," the angel answered. "Everything is alright, Dean. I did not intend to scare you."

The angel looked the scrawny tree up and down and cocked an eyebrow. "I was thinking about Samuel's offer."

"You're gonna stay?" Sam's eyes practically lit up. He didn't know why he felt good about the angel potentially staying with them. Or if it was because he hadn't really seen and talked to anyone else but Dean and himself in the mirror. Or maybe because it felt special to have an angel of the lord in the house on Christmas.

Or just because he kind of liked the guy a bit. - Besides, he was Dean's friend and about to save his sorry ass.

"If I am still welcome?" There was a genuine smile on the angel's face. If Dean wasn't completely mistaken, he seemed _happy_.

He had to be dreaming though.

"You sure?" Dean asked curiously.

"We've cookies," Sam said smirking at Dean.

"I think my vessel remembers cookies," Castiel exclaimed kind of proud of himself. "And ... Milk I think."

Sam smirked. Life had been that easy once. And it kind of was all over again. With him not being able to do anything but sit back and watch the others work ... with the knowing that he was probably going to die in a day or two - Damn it ... this wasn't THAT easy after all.

He simply felt different. As if the small things meant so much more now than they had before.

_~*DW & SW*~_

It was a nice afternoon.

They had fun, drank coffee and eggnog, told each other stories. It nearly felt like a small family, as they sat together on the couch and listened to each other. Sam felt like home for a couple of hours, his sickness close to forgotten.

At least until Dean lured the angel into the kitchen and told him that he was supposed to vanish in about an hour, because Dean had plans for tonight ... with Sam ... only the two of them.

Like always, Castiel didn't seem to understand it properly and Dean had to explain it a bit closer than he actually wanted.

After their short talk they went back with a plate of sandwiches into the living room.

Sam's cheeks were flushed and his look was a bit dazed. He surely was a lightweight when it came to alcohol – at least at the moment.

"Think it's enough for ya, buddy," Dean took the half-full glass of eggnog away from Sam's hands and put it on the coffee-table. He leaned over, so that his lips were close to Sam's ear. "Don't want you to pass out on me there, baby."

Sam grinned. "Empty promises," he whispered back.

Castiel stood up and cleared his throat. "I think ... I need to go." He looked nervous. "I ..."

Sam looked up at him curiously. Dean did too, but gave him a challenging look.

"I do have someone calling for me," Castiel continued. "Thank you very much, Samuel. It was an honor." He looked a bit more nervous. "I will be here tomorrow then."

"Eight in the morning. Don't be late." Dean said and rose from the couch. He walked around the couch and found himself standing right in front of the angel.

Before Castiel could even think about flattering away, Dean had his arms wrapped around him in a manly hug, whispering a "Thank you" into his ear. He cleared his throat and took a step back. "See you tomorrow," he said louder.

Dean patted his shoulder.

"Tomorrow it is." Castiel gave Sam a nod, who nodded back, and then he was gone.

Dean turned around to face Sam. "All alone again."

"Not all alone," he said, "I'm still here, aren't I?" He smiled a soft smile.

Dean chuckled. "So ..." He held Sam's gaze.

"So," the hunter looked aside, his cheeks a bit flushed. "It's not that late yet."

There was an unsaid question in his words.

"Shower? Bed?" the demon asked after a beat of silence. "Or ... do you ..."

"Nah, that sounds good." He sniffed. "You-and-me-shower?" Sam wiggled his eyebrows. "Or ... the lame me-shower and you-shower?"

The demon smiled. "The first it is." He extended his hand towards Sam and the hunter took it in his.

They made their way upstairs, where the air was noticeably cooler and coursed a shiver down Sam's spine, when they entered his former bedroom. They gathered their most comfortable sweatpants and shirts. Sam added his worn out hoodie to the collection of clothes and followed Dean into the bathroom.

When they were undressed and Dean had adjusted the water to their favor, they stepped inside the shower stall. Dean took his place behind Sam, not caring that his back was exposed to the chilly air. He kept his lover right under the spray of hot water as he stepped closer behind him.

Dean tilted Sam's head back and maneuvered his head under the spray, so that his head was right under it. He kept his touches effective but tender, as he wetted the hunter's hair thoroughly before adding shampoo and conditioner.

Sam eased out under Dean's grasp and turned around, where he wrapped his arms around his neck and pulled him into a slow sweet kiss. Dean's tongue slipped in-between wet lips, licking the taste of cookies and coffee up, as his hands slid over water-slick skin on Sam's back.

The demon moaned into the kiss, his hands traveling down over firm muscles to the offering of soft, parted flesh. The tip of Sam's hardening manhood pressed into his belly right under his navel.

Fingers found their way in between muscled globes and Sam bucked into them, seeking friction.

Dean took his sweet time to open him up with his fingers while kissing the hunter's mouth bruised and swollen.

Just when the water started to turn cold the both of them hurried up to get rinsed clean and turned it off. They dried each other off and got a move on into clean – not reeking – clothes, before they headed back downstairs in front of the open fire.

Though, Dean switched the hi-fi system on as they passed the Christmas tree towards their lair of mattresses, pillows and blankets.

Sam stood at the end of it, waiting for Dean to come back to his side.

The demon did. He pushed Sam back and guided him down, laying him out on their fort of coziness as he crawled over him, seizing his lips back into his own.

They were shedding each other's clothes again to the sounds of Bon Jovi singing Hallelujah.

_Well I heard there was a secret chord  
David played to please the lord_

Their clothes nestled in a heap beside their lair, golden skin gleaming in the blazing fire.

_But you don't really care for music, do ya  
Well it goes like this the fourth the fifth  
Minor fall and the major lift_

Damp skin sliding against velvet. Dean on top of his lover, grinding down against him. Tongues dancing together.

_The baffled king composing Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah_

Blunt half-moons leaving red marks in strong muscles. Big hands gripping tight for leverage, pushing up against Dean, their hard members snug between their bellies, when the refrain echoed out.

_Well your faith was strong but you needed proof  
You saw she bathing on the roof  
She beauty and the moonlight overthrew you_

Breaths were shared. Sam threw his head back, exposing his neck to the man above him, savoring the feel of being loved, being adored. Soft flesh and silken skin under his palms, as his hands settled on Dean's waist to the left and right, holding him right there. Strong and shielding above him, as if he'd take on everything that'd try to harm him.

_She tied you to the kitchen chair  
She broke your throne and she cut your hair  
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah_

Silent noises fell from their lips. Moans of need and want and love.

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah_

Sam felt the tightness in his chest, the infinite force of dark power, as his heart sped up mercilessly. He bit his lower lip, wanting to will away the fear and despair as a dull ache started in, daring to take this moment away from him. This moment with Dean – maybe the last one ever.

_Baby I've been here before  
I've seen this room and I've walked this floor  
I used to live alone before I knew you_

Dean rolled off of him, settling in at his side, while his calloused hands sought comfort on the warmth and tenderness of Sam's skin. He laid his hand over Sam's chest and guided him around with his grasp until he lay on his side, facing the fire, feeling Dean behind him.

"Let go, baby boy," he whispered huskily into Sam's ear, "I'm here. I'll always be – with you. I'll follow you wherever you go."

_And it's not your flag on that marble arch, no  
Love is not a victory march  
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah_

Sam laid his hand over Dean's, pressing it into his chest, feeling the warmth of it, the love. He swallowed a sob before it could escape his lips. The tightness slowly eased away, the ache shattered into pieces and he took a slow and deep inhale, pushing back against the hard length along his butt.

_Well there was a time when you let me know  
_ _What's really going on below  
But now you never show that to me, do you?_

Dean trailed wet kisses along Sam's neck and shoulder, sucking marks into the skin as he lined himself up against his lover's entrance and pushed, slow and careful, feeling tight heat and velvet insides gliding along his shaft, down to the hilt.

Both men had been holding their breaths and were now drawing air in union.

_Well remember when I moved in you  
And the holy dove was moving too  
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah  
Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah_

It was a steady draw and push, the sounds of skin hitting skin, of silent moans answering louder ones, pushing each other into the heights of heaven.

_Well now maybe there's a God above  
But all I ever learnt from love  
Was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you_

They were holding onto each other, breathing the same air, feeling the same emotions. It was a take and give. Fair and square.

Sam felt Dean's hands all over him, INSIDE of him, as if they were reached straight into him, touching his soul, his heart – everything.

_And it's not a cry that you hear at night  
It's not someone who's seen the light  
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah _

As they came apart for each other, somewhere up in the skies a single shooting star crossed the dark sky. So bright.

Dean pulled Sam back into his arms, softening slowly inside of him. He nuzzled into the nape of his neck, his eyes closed.

"Dean," he breathed, "Dean." It sounded exhausted and tired ... nothing that should set the demon's alarm bells off, though it did.

"You okay?" it was a whisper breaking the calming sounds of a Kansas-Song.

Sam breathed out. "Duh." He intertwined his fingers with Dean's above his belly button and squeezed slightly. "Perfect. Just ... _perfect_."

Sam fell asleep soon later, while Dean stayed wide awake, listening to their breathing. It felt as if they were one. Breathing in union. Sharing their body warmth under thick blankets. intertwined limbs and souls.

_~*DW & SW*~_

The next morning came brutally fast and bright.

The both of them went through their daily morning routine. Washing up, brushing their teeth, getting dressed. They ate breakfast in complete silence, the tension palpable in the air.

Dean didn't dare to speak up, nor did Sam. Afraid they could jinx it. Besides, they were able to communicate without opening their mouths and just by looks.

Dean then stocked up the logs in front of the fireplace, so that Sam would have enough to throw in. He put fresh sheets on the mattresses and the comforter, since they had messed them up during their activities last night.

Sam did everything to not let his own distress and doubts show – nor his nervousness. But knowing that Dean and Castiel would go out, capture a demon and do whatever they'd have to do to save his very life made his heart beat faster and the ache in his chest worse.

When Castiel appeared, the both of them were sitting at the kitchen table waiting, their legs touching under the table at their ankles.

Both men looked up at the angel, who looked pretty much like always – not even a bit nervous. Neither did Dean. But Sam ... if he wasn't holding his hands in his lap, he'd get very aware of how shaky they were.

"It's time," Castiel spoke up.

Sam rose on shaky legs. So did Dean, shouldering his duffel-bag which he had packed earlier that morning. The two of them shared looks until Dean cleared his throat and adjusted the knife in his belt – Sam's knife – the demon-killing-knife the hunter had given to him minutes ago.

Sam knew that Dean - with his powers - was capable of a whole lotta more things than that knife could do ... but it made Sam feel safer if he knew that there was something else that would protect his mate too.

Dean came around the table and wrapped his arms around the taller man, holding him tight with a longing in his heart. Sam embraced him too and kissed his neck tenderly.

"Take care, okay?" Sam's voice was raspy and roughed, as if he had yelled the whole damn night.

"Sure thing, baby." Dean said as they pulled away from each other and he looked up at the hunter. "You too, okay? No nonsense while I'm gone. - Don't worry. It's an easy gig. Our plan's bullet-proof."

Sam gave him a weak smile in response.

Castiel eyed them curiously as the word "plan" fell. – Dean was just glad that Sam didn't notice, otherwise he would have had to punch the angel right in the face.

Dean stepped away from Sam and towards the angel, sharing a look with him. "We're ready. Lets go."

Castiel gave Sam a short nod and laid his hand on Dean's shoulder. They hadn't even made contact and then they were gone.

Sam stared at where they had stood for quite some time before he sat back into the chair and continued to stare at the very place, as if they'd pop up any minute again ...

_~*DW & SW*~_

"That's it! Never again!", Dean whined, "I won't poop for a week, dude."

He straightened his jacket and walked into the hall of the warehouse, in middle of which a devil's trap was drawn. Dean eyed the sigil thoroughly and nodded when he didn't find anything that wasn't in place.

"So ..." Castiel started, "... you do have a plan?"

Dean rose an eyebrow at him and pursed his lips as he looked back over his shoulder. "Summoning the bastard. Getting his blood." He pulled an empty syringe from his jacket. "And hasta la vista, bitch." He motioned with his hands an explosion.

"Is there also a plan B?" The angel narrowed his eyes.

Dean sighed heavily and turned back around towards the sigil. "We won't need one," he answered. "I wouldn't know how else to do it. Ain't like Alistair's one of the easy guys." He chewed on his bottom lip.

It was true. He didn't know how else they were supposed to do it. Dean knew he'd be able to burn that bastard out of his vessel once he had managed to fill the syringe with Alistair's blood. He just hoped that the spell was the right one.

More than that: He hoped that the name the demon had given him was Alistair's true one.

He put the syringe back into his jacket and pulled a piece of paper from his jeans-pocket and held it up, so that Castiel could see it too.

"I've got his name, Cas. There's no way it's not going to work." He turned around to give the angel a tight smile and let the duffel bag slide from his shoulder and eased it on the ground carefully.

"What will be my position in your plan?" The angel asked after a long while.

"You're my wing-man." There was a glint of mischief in the demon's eyes. "I'm gonna need someone who has my back while I'm on it and if Alistair's not willing to share."

The angel gave him a short nod.

_~*DW & SW*~_

An hour later, Dean had everything prepared. He kneeled before the devil's trap, a brass bowl before his knees and chanted the spell, repeating Alistair's true name - _Maeleachlainn_ – over and over again.

The ground beneath him started to vibrate, a sign that Alistair was about to appear before them. And as it was meant to be, there was dark grey and black ash gathering – seemingly out of nowhere – in the middle of the sigil and was forming into an upright figure until it took on the shape of a human being.

Moments later, there he was – in his flesh. _Maeleachlainn_. Lucifer's right hand. Master of dungeons. A guy with piercing blue eyes, and a look which would make the blood in the toughest man freeze.

"Dean Winchester," he said in this very unique way in which he used to speak. Dean had no clue if it was his vessel or Alistair himself who owned a weird voice like THAT– though, it seemed to fit perfectly. All cold and icy – even a bit sly. "Nice to see you again." He smiled.

That bastard fucking smiled, as if there was nothing in the damn universe that could do him harm. NOTHING.

Dean rose slowly from his kneeling position and smiled back at him coldly, his eyes taking on obsidian.

"Yeah. Long time no talk." Dean took a step away from the trap and tilted his head back, though not letting the demon out under his watch.

"We are not here to talk, are we?" Alistair looked at the floor and took in the trap in which he was captured. The demon smirked. And looked back up.

"That's right. - So. Here's the deal." Dean pulled the syringe from his pocket and threw it to Alistair's feet. "Fill it with your blood and I may not torture you before I end it." Dean's words were cold and serious. _Cold-blooded._

The demon chuckled and his grin widened. "Torture? Me?" He sniffed. "Don't think that will happen, Dean. You see ..." He turned his back on the Winchester and made a few steps towards the other side of the ring.

Castiel and Dean shared a short glance.

"... I knew someone would betray me. I knew you would summon me one day. It happens that I know, that YOU, Dean Winchester, have an affair with a certain hunter. - And I do NOT appreciate when someone is disturbing my games. Let alone kicking me out of it." Alistair turned back around and tilted his head to the side while he took in Dean from tip to toe, calculating. He clicked his tongue and smiled again. "Long story short: I didn't come alone."

Alistair extended his arms to his left and right and held them up in a welcoming gesture.

Castiel made a step closer towards Dean, visibly agitated all of a sudden.

"What is it, Cas?" Dean turned to face his angel-friend and his eyes narrowed at the high alert expression on his face, knowing immediately that he was sensing something.

It felt like the air was starting to vibrate around them – and it was increasing, like the omen of a giant stampede of wild animals fleeing from the fire. The huge windows of the warehouse shattered with the vibrations until they burst and rained down on them in millions of pieces.

Dean and Castiel ducked away, covering their heads.

When the sound of raining glass faded, the both of them looked up again, to see Alistair standing in the middle of the trap, his arms extended, his face turned upright towards the sky.

Dean cursed under his breath, his mind racing a hundred miles per second to digest what was about to happen.

"Cas?" Dean asked, pulling out the demon-knife.

"They're coming," The angel answered, watching Dean's face harden under his prediction.

Dean's facial expression changed from grim anger into dangerous earth-destroying rage. "How many?" he hissed through gritted teeth.

Castiel swallowed visibly. "Hundreds," he breathed and straightened back up. _... too many for us to take on ..._ left been unsaid. And he didn't need to anyway. Dean knew.

"They won't be able to enter." Dean straightened up with a mischievous grin on his lips. "This building is on lock-down and so are you."

Alistair sucked in a deep breath, his ribcage expanding visibly and as he exhaled, he turned his attention back at Dean and his eyes opened.

They were white. White as untouched snow. And that bastard was still grinning at him – at the both of them. He was mocking them.

"I did not say that it were demons, did I?" His grin widened, as he saw the angel's and demon's expression change, lines of pure horror forming on their faces as realization hit home. "I think you may know WHO I am talking about."

"The hordes," Castiel murmured, his eyes wide, goosebumps rising all over his body. For the first time in an eon actually, he was scared shitless.

Yes, Demons were not capable of crossing those sigils and lines and sneaking inside of the warehouse. But these weren't demons. The hordes were far older, far more dangerous than any demon could ever be. Thousands of years of torture, humiliation and never-ending pain would do that to an ancient soul as old as the world itself. Immune to holy water, salt, exorcism, riding on black-furred red-eyed mares.

The offspring of evil. Evil that had existed long before Lucifer himself had been called to life and though obedient to him in every kind of way.

Creatures looking worse than the ugliest thing in your nightmares could ever be. Black skin, and dead white eyes coming out of the darkness to reach for you, grasp you and pull you under with their sharp claws in your flesh.

"Plan B?" Castiel asked.

Dean's bottom-lip quivered, his lips pressed together in dismay, his nostrils flaring with white hot fury.

"Go." Dean snarled, without looking at his friend. "Go. Now."

"But-" Castiel opened his mouth to argue.

"GO, dammit."

"I won't leave you alone in this," Castiel demanded.

"For Sam. Cas. Sam needs someone to look out for him. He needs someone to keep up his fight," Dean gazed at him, a white light flickering across his eyes.

"He needs you, Dean. YOU," Castiel hissed back. "He will not fight when you are dead."

Alistair's laughter broke through their conversation. "Isn't that cute? A demon and an angel fighting about the wellbeing of a human whose life is already doomed? That's comical, real amusing by the way."

Both men glared at him.

The vibrations suddenly stopped and complete silence fell over the area in and around the warehouse. Deadly silence. Until a snarl was heard from the outside.

"You shut up," Dean hissed, "or I'm stabbing you right there!"

"You can't, can you? - You kill me and my blood's worthless," Alistair sing sang while he drew a circle inside the trap. "And you know it, don't you?"

A grin tugged on Dean's lips. "I won't let you go. This way or another I will get what I want."

"Who says I want you to let me go?" Alistair cocked both eyebrows in surprise, looking fucking amused about what was going down.

"What else would you desire?" Castiel made a step closer to the circle of the sigil. "Except revenge for taking away one of your pets?"

Dean glared at his friend.

"You truly think this is about one of my playthings?" Alistair pursed his lips and tilted his head to the side, looking skyways. "Well ... _fine_."

"Then enlighten us, abomination," Castiel's eyes narrowed at the man as he made a step closer. "What are your motives?"

Alistair's hands dropped to his sides and he looked straight at Dean. "Well ... You think I would resurrect the Hordes because of a single human nobody?" He gave the both men a few seconds to think, then he continued: "Why do you think they did not try to kill you when you were in that demon-nest? Why do you think they were staying in the same place for close to two weeks?"

"Because they had the order to deliver me to you and because they were waiting for your order to do so," Dean answered, his eyes narrowing further and his forehead knitted together.

Alistair made a smacked his tongue and sighed heavily. "I truly thought you would be more ... clever ... than that." He sighed again. "You are special, Dean. - You are one of your kind. Not angel. Not Demon. Not really human. Your loss and despair will drive you right back to hell once the hunter's purpose is done. I did not expect you to fall in love with him though. It was much more the thought of you pitying him. Of you CARING about him as a friend." The demon smirked mischievously.

Dean's chest heaved with every intake of sulfur-heavy air. "Won't happen. No matter what you do. What you say. It won't."

"It WILL, Dean. Because it is your fate. Your destiny. - No matter how often we have to play this game ... no matter what you try, what you want. You will lose. Everything. Over and over again. And if you think, that it's done when the hunter dies, or when I die, then you're wrong. Because this is just the beginning. Until you take your right place," Alistair said, lesser cocky and more serious. "Everyone you ever met, you helped, or even gave a tip in a bar. Everyone I can think of will die. Until you're ready." Then he wiggled with his head to the left and right. "Except ..." He rose his left pointing finger, "You decide to die. Which would be a possible way too."

"I won't. Never.", He pressed out through gritted teeth. "Let them in. Let them kill me, bitch."

Alistair shrugged. "You sure about that? 'cause it sure's a pity to lose someone like you ... so TALENTED in so many aspects." He was grinning smugly. "Goes three. Goes two ..."

"Dean." Castiel said warningly.

"Ah!" the captured demon blew out a breath through his nose and addressed the angel with his look. "You can't just ... pop in and out as you like. I made sure of that." He sighed again. "And now? What's it gonna be?"

"Cas." He gave him a nod. "End of games."

In a matter of seconds, Castiel was inside the circle, so was Dean. Both wrestled the demon to the ground, where he writhed in their grasps to free himself. Though it was no use. Inside the circle his powers were useless – all he had was his vessel's strength and that wasn't a lot compared to the one of an angel.

Dean set the syringe at the man's coronary along his neck, while Castiel held his head in place. He plunged it inside and to his own surprise, it filled with dark red liquid as he pulled the plunger out. As soon as it was filled, both men let go of the demon and Dean drew Sam's knife.

"You kill me, you'll unleash the horde. You'll be dead," Alistair hissed and panted, as he watched Dean backing away and stepping out of the trap.

"Guess they'll have to try, huh?" He pursed his lips as he walked around the outer circle, hearing the animalistic snarls from outside.

Dean stepped back into the circle, making a show of it anyway. Sure he felt the pull each time he crossed the line, but it wasn't like it could truly hold him inside. He watched the gleaming blade in the spare sunlight and turned it around once in his grasp.

"I thought I would take my time with you or something ... but now ... I think I am not interested in getting you off." He sighed and continued to eye the blade, before he looked up at Alistair, catching his confused look. "Killing you's on my list anyway. So ... it's the same in the end, isn't it? Now or later doesn't really matter."

Alistair stood his ground and held his look.

What made Dean actually think that killing Alistair was a failure, was that he DIDN'T even try to stop him from stabbing him right into the heart. If anything, Alistair looked satisfied ... _pleased_.

There were only mere seconds in-between the flashing light which coursed through Alistair's body and the moment black meres with red eyes and black hooded riders came through the door and windows.

And that was when all hell broke loose ...

_... to be continued_

* * *

  
  


* * *

**CHAPTER XIX**

_It was an ocean of blood. Sweat. Death. Rotting meat. Pain._

No one could've seen THAT coming. No one. Not even an _angel of the lord_.

The hall of the warehouse was a battlefield, plastered with black smoldering corpses. Horses and riders – all their eyes burnt out of their skulls, bleeding.

In it's middle a man, wearing jeans and a leather jacket and a second one wearing a trench coat, lying on the dark concrete. A silver knife with foreign engravings and an angel-blade laying at their sides. Both men wounded and unconscious on the cold floor. Their breaths labored. Their faces battered from small cuts.

There was no movement. No movement at all.

It might have been minutes or hours. No one could tell.

Until the faint rustling of clothes was heard. The trench coat moved and shifted and lids fluttered open, revealing blue eyes.

"Dean?" he croaked out, wiping over his mouth to brush away the blood covering his lips. "Dean."

Castiel braced himself up against the floor, searching the demon's prone form. Pain made his face screw up in agony as he moved, trying to get closer to his unconscious friend. He managed to drag himself over beside him and roll him onto his back, before he even thought about checking on himself and locate where the pain came from.

Dean's face was pale. Tiny shards of some black material stuck out of his skin all over the right side of his face. There was blood everywhere. A gash on his forehead and shredded clothes clinging to the right side of his chest and torso.

The black shards gleamed like dark glass in the lonely rays of daylight which illuminated the hall. Tiny vein-like lines were spreading from where those shards and punctured the demon's skin and flesh.

Castiel looked down on himself, seeing that he was in no better shape than his friend, seeing that he too was wounded badly and that those poisoned shards were spreading their venom in him.

A wave of dizziness overwhelmed the angel and he had to close his eyes for a moment to compose himself.

They were too far away from Dean's safe house. From Samuel. Too far to drive there. He had to teleport if at least one of them should survive.

So he laid his flat palm over Dean's chest and closed his eyes, gathering the rest of his power to do the unbelievable.

_~*DW & SW*~_

Sure Dean had said it'd take just a couple of hours. That they'd be there by nightfall – tops. Well, it was not nightfall yet but Sam was growing more concerned by the minute.

He had spent some time in front of the TV but hadn't found any satisfaction. So he had started on lunch, despite the fact that there was still stew in the fridge. He needed something to work on – something to do. He couldn't just sit around and wait for them to come back while they were in the proverbial lion's cage fighting to save his life.

This was all so screwed up. He was so screwed up. If he could've just ...

Sam swallowed and pulled the pot with potatoes from the plate, bracing himself against the counter with both hands.

A noise, which he had craved to hear for hours, tore him out of his thoughts.

_Angel-wings._

Sam's eyes snapped open and he spun around with a smile on his lips, which faded in a matter of seconds when he saw. SAW. Dean on the floor, Castiel hovering over him, one hand on his chest, heavily panting.

"Dean? Cas?" Sam was beside them and on his knees opposite of Castiel the very next moment. What happened?" He gazed at the angel first, but looked back down at Dean who moaned absently.

"It was a trap. He knew we were coming," Castiel hissed, clutching his side.  
Sam followed the angel's movement and his eyes narrowed, seeing the same patterns of poison on the angel where his white shirt was ripped apart, as Dean had on his face.

"Okay okay ... What ... how ..."

"You ..." Castiel's eyes turned glassy. "Samuel ... you have to remove the shards – fast. They are covered in venom. _Poison_. Do not touch them without-" The angel's eyes rolled back in his skull and he slumped to the floor before Sam could reach over and stop him from hitting the ground – hard.

"Shit ... shit." Sam sucked in a calming breath (it should've been calming) and laid his hand on Dean's neck, finding an erratic pulse under his fingers. He cursed again. "Get the shards out of him," Sam mumbled, "Try not to cut yourself." He muttered every imaginable curse that came to his mind, as he found himself torn between helping Dean and helping Castiel. A second pair of hands would've been handy at the moment.

Dean seemed worse off, so yes, it had to be Dean.

Sam didn't lose anymore time. He went to the cupboard under the sink and pulled the medical kit out. He hurried back to Dean's side and snapped the case open. He laid its items out on the floor beside him and hoped dearly that demons – or however he was supposed to call Dean – and angels couldn't contract blood infections ... This was going to get messy. He wasn't a freaking doctor after all.

Sam then pulled a pair of surgical gloves from the side pocket of the case and put them on. He then poured hand sanitizer over them, rubbed them together and took the scissors, with which he cut Dean's clothes off. All of of them except his boxers. He peeled the bloody fabric from Dean's skin, noticing that he was starting to feel clammy.

He blew out a breath through his nose, his nostrils flaring, as he gazed at Dean's face. He had to start somewhere, so why not there?

Sam took another breath to calm his trembling fingers as he laid the bloody scissors aside and reached for two pairs of pincers. In between removing shards of what looked like black glass to him and dropping them into a dish, he remembered himself to breathe, to will his heart rate down, to stay focused and ignore the pull in his own chest.

He tried to make himself think about how pissed Dean would be for destroying his leather jacket ... for cutting it into pieces. Oh yeah, explaining that would be definitely fun.

Sam worked fast and precise, while he watched the dark strains of Dean's veins spread slowly over his chest where the bigger pieces of black glass were sticking out of him. Sam took delicate care to get ALL of them out. He checked double and three times to make sure – real sure.

When he moved down to Dean's thigh, he glanced over at Castiel. The angel's skin was covered in a sheen of sweat and he started to look pale. High likely not a good sign at all. Sam had to hurry the fuck up if he wanted to save the both of them.

At least he hoped he would ... he _prayed_ he would.

"No one's gonna die today," he muttered to himself grimly.

It took him forty-five minutes until the last piece was removed from Dean's body. Forty-five minutes of keeping his shit together, of focusing, of ignoring his aching back. Though, there was a problem: His vision was getting blurry and he felt a tiredness and fog clouding his mind.

Something that happened pretty often lately. Only thing was, that now he didn't have time for that kind of shit. This was about life and death.

Sam gave Dean a last glance, before he collected the scissors, pairs of pincers and the kidney dish and hurried around to Castiel's side. The hunter pulled him away from Dean and laid him out flatly. So he would have enough space to work.

He cut his clothes off, just like Dean's, until just his boxer briefs were remaining on his body and got to work. Gladly there weren't as many of those poisoned shards inside the angel as they had been in Dean. The bigger one in his side and a couple other ones in his right chest and that was it.

Once done, Sam hurried back to Dean's side and checked on his pulse and breathing. He then went into the kitchen, poured warm water into a bowl and took some of the clean rags from the counter. He then kneeled down beside Dean again and started to clean the wounds carefully.

Dean didn't as much as moan, his forehead furrowing in distress.

"It's okay, Dean. I'm takin' care of you. Don't you worry," Sam whispered with a worried smile. "It's gonna be okay. You're gonna be okay." He carried on cleaning him up, until there was no blood left on the man's body, except for the bit that still oozed from the wounds.

Sam then dressed the bigger gashes with gauze and covered the smaller ones with antiseptic salve. The darkened veins didn't spread further, but they didn't go back either. So he wasn't sure if this was a good thing or not ... or if he should do something else ... Hell, he didn't even know what kind of venom it was ...

When he was done with patching the demon up, Sam rose and thought for a moment, trying to figure out how to get Dean on the mattresses in the living room. He staggered and swayed and closed his eyes for a long moment, finding the wall to lean against for a couple of seconds.

This wasn't good. He couldn't pass out now. He still had to get Dean over on the mattresses and he had to clean Castiel up, had to patch him up and get him over in front of the fire too ...

Sam finally decided to roll Dean onto the rug and drag him with it into the living-room. Getting the man's dead weight onto the mattresses was another problem though – if he didn't want to injure him any further at least.

In the end he managed it and threw two more logs into the fire before he covered Dean with the comforter and went back into the kitchen, where he still had Castiel to take care off. While passing the angel, he picked the bowl up and emptied the dirty, rust-brown and red water into the sink. He then refilled the bowl after cleaning it out and got back to the angel.

The same procedure as with Dean, just faster, since Castiel didn't have as many wounds. Once done, he brought him into the living room and rolled him onto the mattresses beside Dean.

He covered the angel with another two blankets.

Slowly but surely the adrenaline was wearing off and he found himself standing in front of a heap of cut, bloody clothes and rags and gauze. The open medical kit to his feet, its items scattered all over the floor.

Sam looked back over his shoulder into the living room with a longing gaze. Three men on two mattresses would be too much anyway. He'd have to find himself another place to crash.

After all he couldn't rest right away anyway. He needed to clean this mess up and check on the both of them regularly, maybe trying to figure out what those shards were and what kind of venom it was. Maybe they'd need an antidote after all ...

_~*DW & SW*~_

Sam found nothing on the web about black shards and venom.

Though he managed to clean up the kitchen floor and search Dean's and Castiel's clothes for items before he threw them into the open fire. Except for Dean's jacket. He had no clue if he wouldn't want to keep it anyway – no matter how torn it was.

There wasn't a lot in their pockets anyway.

An Angel-blade, his demon-killing-knife, a destroyed syringe, a few nickles and a flask. Everything covered in tried blood.

He then checked on the men again. Sam kneeled down beside the mattresses and checked on Castiel first. His pulse was strong against his finger-tips and the traces of the venom seemed to slowly vanish from his skin. So did the ones on Dean. The demon's pulse was a bit too fast still, but it was okay. He'd be okay.

_Dean had to be okay._

A fact that made Sam smile to himself, though it vanished again, as he felt guilt striking him full-force into the gut. This wouldn't have happened in the first place if it hadn't been for him.

Sam huffed out a breath.

"'m sorry, guys," he murmured sighing as he laid his hand on Dean's forehead. He still felt clammy and a bit warm.

He moved back into the kitchen and got two bottles of water with which he headed back into the living room and put them beside the mattresses, where he stayed a while watching the both of them and then he walked over to the window and gazed outside.

The sun was setting above the trees and made Dean's black car gleam like a gem in its light. Yeah, the car looked very special – though it was an old one.

Sam decided to check on the saltlines and devil's traps in the house. When he was done, he headed back downstairs and pulled on his boots and jacket and snatched his knife from the kitchen table where he had laid out the items Castiel and Dean had with them.

Once outside, clutching the knife in his hand, he took a deep inhale and made a loop around the house to where the trees began to grow. He strode through the underwood, stopping every now and then to get his breath back and listen.

They could never be sure if they were truly safe - After all, Sam didn't even know what had happened ... He just needed to make sure that everything was calm. Though, deep down he knew that it didn't help any. If something evil wanted to sneak up on them, they would and he wouldn't even notice until it was too late.

He pushed away the thought and went back into the house, locking the front door. Not that that would help any either.

He toed off his shoes, shrugged off his jacket and threw logs into the fire before he checked on the angel and his mate once more. Sam managed to ignore the pull in his chest and the dull ache which seemed to come in waves and made him feel miserable.

_~*DW & SW*~_

Sam woke a couple of times during the night, staggering through the living room to check on Dean and Castiel and throw logs into the fire every time. They were barely aware of anything it seemed, though he managed to get half a bottle of water into each of them.

Dean had woken briefly though. His gaze dazed and lines of pain on his face, when Sam had hovered over him to make him drink. Dean had asked for the hunter instantly, obviously not realizing that it was SAM who was letting him drink. The demon was muttering incoherent things about blood and hoardes and his jacket.

Sam had soothed him and told him that everything was okay. That he and Castiel had made it back to the house and that he had taken care of everything and that they were going to be okay.

The first rays of sunlight shone through the not so clean windows and Sam groaned in disapproval.

Of course, the first thing that he did, was check on his friends before shuffling outside on the porch to get arms full of logs inside since the ones Dean had brought in yesterday were close to gone.

Still sleepdrunken and groggy, he moved slowly on wobbling legs until there were enough logs to last until tonight. Once done with stacking them up beside the fireplace he moved over into the kitchen and turned the coffee maker on. He then moved – like on auto-pilot – upstairs into the bathroom and brushed his teeth and combed his hair.

Looking into the mirror, he didn't realize at first that this was himself staring back at him. There were practically no meat on the bones of his face and he looked a bit ashen ...

Sam sighed and closed his eyes. Until now he hadn't thought about it if Castiel and Dean had been successful. Then again, by the looks of it and the lack of a vial or something filled with blood, they hadn't.

He made a small noise in the back of his throat and shook his head. The most important thing was, that the both of them had come back alive.

Sam decided to take a quick shower later and found himself sweatpants, shirt, pullover and his worn-out hoodie, before he went to gather sets of clothes for Dean and Castiel.

They'd need them as soon as they'd wake up, so he took the sets of clothes downstairs. Hopefully Dean wouldn't care if the angel would wear something of his for their time being.

He laid the two sets beside the mattresses, threw another log into the fire and headed back upstairs to get his quick shower. Sam was holding onto the banister with one hand and onto his chest with the other as he made his way upstairs. He tried to breathe through the increasing pain and tightness and eventually managed to reach the bathroom and sit down on the toilet to gain back his breath.

_~*DW & SW*~_

Castiel's eyes flickered open lazily and he groaned, his hand shifting to where a thick bandage was covering his side. The angel blinked a couple of times before his vision cleared and he looked around to find Dean right beside him, obviously still out cold.

The angel sat up and instantly regretted the too fast movement, when dizziness took him over. He looked around once again, figuring that it had to be somewhere around noon – at least by the way the sunlight wasn't shining into the room anymore directly. He felt his chest, where a smaller bandage was covering a part of his skin and looked down on himself as if he just now realized that he was naked – except for his boxers.

"Sam?" he asked hoarsely. His gaze flickered towards the fireplace. There were a few gleaming pieces of wood left, so the hunter hadn't been there in some time to take care of it.

The angel's frown deepened as he saw two stacks of clothes beside two water-bottles.

"Samuel?!" he called out louder and listened.  
But there was no answer.

Castiel chose the stack of fabric, which included a pair of black jeans, a white shirt and a sweater. So he got dressed, feeling still out of it and partly unfocused and uncertain what had happened after he had brought them back into the house.

Obviously nothing too good. He could still smell the scent of blood in the air, the use of antiseptic and cleaner. He groaned again and looked back down at Dean, watching him for a long moment, before he went to the fire-place. The angel stirred in the ashes with a firepoker and laid three logs on the gleaming remains.

He then moved into the kitchen and looked around. There were no signs,that Sam had recently touched anything beside the coffee machine, which was still on. Castiel switched it off and his eyes narrowed. He strained his ears, trying to make out movement or something else that'd tell him that Sam was in the house and didn't hear his calls.

Blue eyes pierced through the doorway towards the staircase. Castiel followed his instincts and eventually found himself in front of a bathroom door, hearing water rain down from the inside and the change of how it sounded when someone moved below it.

He didn't call out for Sam though, just stood there – waiting. Dean had taught him that it was no good to pop in on someone under a shower years ago. He had also tought him that personal space was very important. So he waited – right there in front of the door, listening to the water hitting tiles and something else. He listened to water gushing down the drain and when it got turned off.

There were wet footfalls and the rustling of fabric being ruffled over hair and skin.

He didn't just hear what Sam was doing inside – he also heard HOW he was doing it. Slow and sluggishly with huffs and puffs of blown out breaths.

The angel rose his hand to lay it on the door handle, but pulled back again, deciding not to interfere with the hunter's private session in the bathroom.

Sam braced himself against the sink and closed his eyes, waiting for a wave of nausea to subside. He hadn't eaten since yesterday morning with Dean – which seemed to be one of his problems at the moment. One of the bigger ones actually as it seemed.

He had to keep going. At least until Castiel or Dean, or hopefully both, would be awake and capable of taking care of themselves. He couldn't rest before they woke up. He couldn't. He owed them that much.

He had to keep his shit together.

AND he had to get his ass downstairs and lay logs into the fire – what he had completely forgotten after his little episode earlier. So he opened his eyes again, avoided looking at himself in the mirror as he turned around and rubbed over his freshly shaved face before he reached for the door handle and pulled it open.

The very moment he looked up and was met with the unexpected image of a certain blue-eyed angel, he made a surprised sound and his eyes widened. Though his mind manged to not freak out. Maybe because it was too slow or whatever to realize that he would've been supposed to grab a gun or something. After all it could've been some monster.

"Cas?" he asked, surprised, immediately the lines on his face softening.

Castiel gave him a little smile and a nod. "Samuel," he said, "I was calling for you."

Sam looked back over his shoulder at the shower stall and back at him. "Yeah – sorry ... I ... I took a shower ... I .. How are you?"

Castiel's eyes narrowed. "Thank you. I am doing good. - How are you?"

"Fine,"the lie was over his lips before his brain could even process the angel's question. He gave him a weak smile. "'s Dean woken up too?"

The angel shook his head. "No. But he seems to be fine - You are not fine – I can see that."

"We should take a look at your wound," Sam immediately changed the topic. He did not intend on discussing is own wellbeing, when the both of them had nearly died last night. Besides, the angel didn't look that fresh either. "And you've to lay back down. Get rest."

"So do you," the angel shot back. "Did you sleep?"

Sam nodded and pushed past Castiel. "Sure did."

Castiel followed the hunter back downstairs, eying him closely as he made his way over the steps, one hand against the wall. Sam pushed the angel towards the mattresses and pointed at the free space there.

"Go lie down. - Drink the rest of the water," Sam ordered in his most boss-like tone and went to the stack of logs, from which he put three into the fire atop of the ones Castiel had thrown in earlier.

Castiel obeyed without a further word. Obviously the angel wasn't better off than he, Sam figured, otherwise he wouldn't do what he was telling him.

The hunter's gaze wandered over to Dean and he squat down at the other side of the mattresses right beside Dean. He laid his fingertips over the demon's neck and felt his pulse, relieved that it felt stronger and slower. Sam looked under the comforter and noticed that the black lines which marked Dean's arteries and veins were barely visible anymore.

Satisfied, he waved at Castiel to give him one of the bottles. The angel took it.

"You gotta drink, Cas. You lost a lot blood. 'm sure the poisoning's signs are gonna vanish faster too if you're drinking. Gettin' all that venom out of your system." He winked at the angel, his lips curling up but the smile wasn't reaching his eyes.

"You need to lie down too, Samuel," Castiel pointed out, but reached for his bottle anyways and emptied it.

Sam tugged Dean's covers back down and laid his hand on the older man's cheek. "Dean," he whispered, "C'mon, wake up. Open your eyes. You gotta drink." He rubbed over the man's freckled cheekbone with his thumb, before he slid with his hand under Dean's head and squeezed gently.

The demon groaned and his eyes squeezed shut, though he didn't open them.

"Okay. Don't open your eyes. But you need to drink this for me." Sam tilted his lover's head up and set the open bottle to his lips. To his surprise, Dean obliged and drank the rest of the water in one go.

"Good," Satisfied, Sam let the demon's head sink back on the pillow.

"Sammy," Dean croaked out weakly.

"Yeah. 'm here." The hunter smiled warmly. This time it even reached his eyes. "Everything's fine. We're good."

Dean Winchester didn't respond to any of his words – he just muttered something before he drifted off again and Sam watched him with deep concern.

"He is going to be alright," Castiel spoke up. "You removed all of those shards. He is going to survive." The angel leaned back into the pillows and closed his eyes. "I need to thank you. - We would be dead if it was not for your immediate action."

Sam huffed out a silent breath and shook his head in disbelief. "Cas. You both were there because of me. I don't think you should thank me for saving your life after risking yours for mine."

The angel hummed. "Yes I do. - I think you have to accept that, young Harvelle."

Instead of making himself breakfast, Sam maneuvered onto the couch and allowed himself to doze off too.

_~*DW & SW*~_

About three hours later, Sam woke up to chattering noises. He groaned and moaned, stretching his stiff limbs before he opened his eyes lazily.

He didn't feel better at all, but he felt more rested.

He heard another noise which seemed to come from the kitchen. It sounded like metal against wood ...

Sam's first thought was to look over the back of the couch and check on his patients. Not so much to his surprise, he found Castiel's half of the makeshift bed gone, the fire in the fireplace still blazing and burning and a fresh bottle of water standing right beside the mattresses.

He huffed out a breath and gave his mind some more time to get back on track with the rest of his body, before he sat up and followed the clanks and rattles into the kitchen. Both of his eyebrows rose high towards his scalp as he saw Castiel in front of the stove, the pot with stew from the fridge in his hands.

The angel huffed out a breath and put the pot on one of the heating plates.

"Maybe you can help?" he asked without turning around, "I intended to heat up food, but the stove would not obey my orders."

Sam choked down a laugh, pure amusement written over his face as he narrowed, running one of his hands through his roughed up hair.

"Wait, I'll show you," Sam said and laid a hand on Castiel's shoulder and nudged him aside. He gestured at him to watch what he was doing, when he turned the knob of the stove around and put the pot on the white heatingplate on the small field beside the knob he had turned.

"How's the wound?" Sam asked as he stole glances at the angel beside him. He looked way better and not that pale anymore.

Castiel turned to face the hunter and pulled his shirt up, showing him the place where a bandage had been covering his side. He revealed bland, unharmed milky-white skin.

Sam stared at him in a mixture of amazement and shock. Then again,why would he expect something different from an angelic being? So ... if angels healed that fast, would that also apply to Dean?

"Yes, Dean will be healing as fast," Castiel reassured him without Sam having to ask. "He owns the same self-healing abilities as angels ..."

There was a flash of utter relief flashing over the hunter's features at the angel's words.

"He caught most of the shrapnels though." Castiel's expression changed into something more unreadable, as he glanced towards the table where the blade, a flask and an empty syringe were laying. Then he cast his look down. "We failed," he murmured.

There was silence.

And more awkward silence.

Until Sam cleared his throat. "So ... We're back to square one, huh?" He smiled, but it was sad and depressed and his eyes were cast down in disappointment, which he tried to hide behind long bangs of dark hair. He chuckled.

"Yes ..." It was the angel's turn to clear his throat. "We will not give up, Samuel. I promise. Dean will not give up until we find-"

Sam looked up, catching the angel's gaze. "I think ... sometimes you have to accept the inevitable." He turned towards the pot and took the spatula from Castiel's hand, using it to stir the pot.

"We will not accept the inevitable," Castiel said after a long while, watching the hunter closely.

Sam ate a bowl of stew and then excused himself and went back into the living room, where he settled under the covers beside Dean, wrapping an arm around his middle and snuggled close.

"It's all going to be okay," Sam whispered into the demon's ear.

It wasn't that he felt truly at peace with the thought of dying. He had just thought he'd die today or he'd survive and would have a nice life afterwards. Sam hadn't thought about suffering through it until death would rip him away from this life.

Shit obviously tended to happen. - Mostly to him as it seemed.

Not wanting to think about it further, he let his eyelids drift close.

Sam didn't sleep though. He only rested and listened to Dean's breathing, felt his warmth, his soft skin against his palm. He savored the feeling and scent of his lover, bathed in the warmth of certainty that he had to wake up soon.

_~*DW & SW*~_

It took four more hours until Dean showed the first signs of awakening. They were weak attempts to get back among the living though. Moans and pained groans. Incoherent mumbles falling from his lips as he shifted under the covers, in Sam's hold.

Sam's eyelids opened sluggishly and he immediately started to hush him, rub Dean's stomach lightly, sparing the places where the bandages were covering his skin.

"It's all fine," the hunter whispered absently, his mind not in the right place yet. "Dean?" His eyes shot open all the way and he propped up on an elbow.

Sam watched the shorter man's facial expressions, a small smile tugging on his lips as he saw forrest-green through the narrow slits where his lids parted.

"Dean," he said again, this time sounding less concerned and more happy. "Hey."

The demon groaned again and his nose scrunched up, as he turned his head a bit towards the voice. He was instantly met with a familiar face, bright big eyes and dimples. So many dimples. At least as much dimples as the sky had stars.

"Sam," he breathed, carried on an exhale, "Where ... How ... What ..."

"You got hurt." There was a bitter undertone in the hunter's words. "Real bad. - Castiel brought the both of you here." He explained calmly, still smiling, but by far not as bright anymore as before. "We ... we managed to get those shards out of you ... and ... and you did better this morning."

Dean's eyes opened a bit further and he winced as he shifted again. "Got me good," he murmured to himself as his hand shifted over the bandages all along his right body-half. "Bastards." He blinked at the hunter lazily and then smiled a bit. "You're doin' good?"

Of course, Sam nodded. "'m fine.". He bowed forward and brought his face closer to Dean's brushing with his nose along his lover's. "You hungry?"

The demon chuckled. "'course I am. - What about Cas?"

"Castiel's fine. Woke around noon. He didn't look nearly as much of a pincushion as you did." Sam guided his lips over Dean's and kissed him carefully. "How're you feelin'?"

Dean huffed out a breath. "Like I was chewed by hellhounds and spit back out ... other than that, good."

Sam turned on his back, breaking skin contact with Dean as he reached for the water bottle beside the mattresses. The demon groaned, disapproving of the loss of physical contact.

"Get back here," he demanded.

Sam sniffed and he turned back on his side and unscrewed the bottle. "You've to drink," he said, holding the water right in front of Dean's face.

"Not thirsty," he grumbled.

"I don't care," Sam gave back and sat up. He turned around on his butt and waved at Dean to sit up too. "Come here."

Another disapproving grunt and Dean propped himself up on his elbows, though not without grimacing at the pull under the bandages. "You stitched me up?"

Sam looked aside shyly. "Yeah well ... some of the cuts looked pretty bad ... and ... I wasn't sure if it'd heal properly if I wouldn't."

Dean nodded to himself. "Won't scar as bad then." A grin tugged on the edges of his mouth. He reached for the bottle with a huff and gulped down half of it in one go, before he handed it back to Sam. He smacked his lips and frowned. "Where's my jacket?"

"Kitchen ..." Sam answered and licked his lips nervously. He had found the damaged syringe in one of the pockets of Dean's jacket. What meant, that Dean wasn't asking for the jacket per say – more likely for the syringe. "... but ... It got torn up pretty bad ... and-"

Dean's dazed expression changed into a high alert one. "Sam?"

"Dean ... it's ..." Before he could finish what he wanted to explain, Dean hopped to his feet and was off the mattress a second later.

"Where's it?!" he called out. So many emotions in so few syllables.

"Dean!" Sam called out and wanted to reach for him but missed him by inches. "Wait!"

When Sam was on his feet and entered the kitchen, he saw Dean standing in front of the kitchen-table with a blank expression, his eyes dull. He just stood there and stared at the crippled syringe before him.

"'m sorry," Sam whispered. "The jacket was all torn up – the syringe must've gotten ruined in the fight too ... I ... Dean. Look at me. Please." He narrowed slowly until he stood beside him, his eyes fixated on Dean, never on something else. "Please ... look at me."

The demon sniffed. His lips parted as if to say something, but they closed again, pressed into a thin line. There were tears welling up in his eyes.

"It's okay," Sam soothed, a hand on the demon's shoulder. "It's not as bad as it may look at the moment. - I ... I don't know what to say ... You nearly died because of it – because of me ... And ... Maybe it's not meant to be, Dean."

Dean kept staring at the damaged item on the wooden table, gulping down the saliva gathering in his mouth. His throat was threatening to close up. Suddenly there wasn't enough air to breath for a short moment and he made a choking sound.

"Maybe it's not meant to be? _Sam_ ..." Dean didn't look at him. He turned away from the hunter's touch, his back at him. "You can't be serious. You _can't_ ... We risked our lives for this! We ... we walked straight into a trap for THAT and now ... I took on the _hordes_ of HELL!" He choked out a bitter laugh. "... Now it was for nothing? And you don't even seem to _care_?" Now he SPUN around as his voice rose, fury and anger and despair on his face, in his eyes. "What's _wrong_ with YOU?" He spat at his lover, his eyes flashing black.

Sam felt taken aback and made a step back instinctively. "It's not like I don't care," he murmured, his forehead creasing, his eyebrows narrowing, his eyes growing big and innocent, the corners of his lips turning down. "I care ... I do ... I-"

"Save it!" Dean ripped the bandages from his body and threw them to the ground. Seemingly the impact from crumpled up gauze with wood hadn't the violent aspect Dean had wanted to cause. He huffed out a laugh and shook his head. "That's ridiculous. - Right out pathetic," he hissed through gritted teeth. "I knew it. From the very beginning I knew that this was going to be a failure. And it's all my fault. I've let it come that far." He didn't address Sam right away. "A demon and a hunter. Theyre gonna laugh their ass off 'bout us, don't you think?"

This was meant to hurt, it was meant to ache and it was aimed to hit Sam right in the dead center. He wanted him to hurt as bad as he was hurting right now. Because it wasn't fair that Sam was capable of taking it SO easy, while he was filled up with guilt and despair and fear of losing him. Though, right at the moment he didn't know yet why he was acting like a total ass.

There was just so much anger and fury and rage that had to come out of him, so the words kept spilling from his mouth. Sharp and piercing like daggers.

Sam didn't answer. He just stood there, shell-shocked and feeling hurt. SAM was a failure, was what he heard, HE was the pathetic one.

"But NOPE. Dean Winchester gotta help. Has to take on the hurt puppy and show pity, taking care of him. A _hunter_." Another raged breath steamed from his nose. " And now I'm here with a freakin' liability on two legs, grounded somewhere in nowhere without a heater!" he snarled, fixing Sam with his gaze, piercing right through him. "I should've left when I still could, dammit!"

Sam cast his look down, trying to tell himself that these were just emotions that had to come out, that Dean didn't really mean what he was saying. Then again ... no one ever said something where there wasn't at least a spark of truth in it, right?

"Before this whole ... FUCKING around even started! And now ..." He made a disgusted voice in the back of his throat, watching Sam from head to toe nothing but hatred in his eyes, his lips curled in a grim manner. "... now I'm stuck with YOU."

For a long moment there were just raged breaths and utter silence, until Sam cleared his throat, not looking up. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again when he realized that the lump in his throat was constricting his vocal cords and the only sound that'd come out would be a sob ... or something not so _masculine_.

He wouldn't give Dean the opportunity to see his words proved, by bursting out in tears like a damn girl.

"I think I'll go for a walk," Sam pressed out low and silent and turned around where he stood.

"Yeah – you do THAT," Dean spat back, still fuming. "There ain't anything else you're useful for anyway."

Sam stopped in the threshold and looked back over his shoulder, catching the demon's look. "That ... and letting you fuck me, right?" Sam said calmly, his face screwed up in hurt and disappointment, his eyes already watering.

 _Yeah_. Game, set and match, Dean.

_... to be continued_


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter XX**

Dean buckled his belt closed and reached for the tumbler with amber liquid on the kitchen table beside him, gulping it down in one smooth go.

Castiel's eyes narrowed as he turned around the corner, entering the kitchen.

"Where've you been?" Dean asked coldly.

Surprised about his friend's tone of voice, he rose both eyebrows. "I was inspecting the surrounding areas." _... making sure no one followed us here._ He looked around and his eyes narrowed slightly. "Where is Samuel?"

Dean huffed out a breath. "Not here," he snapped.

"I can see that." The angel took a step closer towards Dean, his eyes narrowing further. "How are your wounds?"

"Healed," the demon muttered and slipped into a plaid button down shirt and started to button it closed.

"Do you know where Samuel is?" the angel asked next, obviously not aware how fragile this topic was to Dean right now.

"Taking a walk." The demon didn't turn around fully, just enough to reach for the bottle of Jack and fill his glass with it once more.

"I do believe that it is not recommended for him to go out on his own," Castiel replied pensively, noticing that something was off. "Did you two have an argument of any kind?"

Dean blew out a breath and let his eyes fall closed. "Cas," he ground out. "That's none of your business."  
"It is when it is about his wellbeing," the angel countered.

"Don't act as if he means anything to you." Dean turned around to face his friend, a grim expression on his face, his eyes red-rimmed as if he had cried. "Angels don't care about humans. Why bother now?"

"I do have a choice. I can change my opinion," Castiel stated matter-of-factly. "He ... He saved my life. He saved _our_ lives."

"He saved us because he felt liable, Cas." Dean gulped down the another shot. No, he didn't mean what he was saying – not really at least. "We were out there to save his ass. Of course he _saved_ us. So don't act like a miracle has happened." He glared at his friend. "Because it's not."

The lines of confusion on the angel's face tightened. "You are angry."

"Of course I am!" he snapped. "It's a mess. Sam's dying and we've got NOTHING. And he doesn't even CARE!"

Taken aback the angel watched him before saying something. "I do not believe that he does not care. I think this is a human coping-mechanism."

This time Dean took the bottle, took a sip and huffed out a wet laugh. "Yeah ... _that_ so?"

"YES, Dean, I think that is so. I think Samuel cares about a lot of things and you know that. Most of all he cares about you. He took care of US. He was concerned about you. He may have burned my trench-coat, but he is not an assbutt ... like you." The angel's voice rose.

"Assbutt? Honestly, Cas?" Dean looked at him one brow risen. "There are better ways to describe my character."

"Sometimes I do not understand human beings." He shook his head. "I do not understand YOU sometimes."

"I think we should leave," Dean mumbled absently.

Now it wasn't just confusion that was prominently written all over the angel's face. There was shock. Anger. A bit of rage.

Before Dean could blink a second time, Castiel's fist was in his face, throwing him off balance and catapulting him onto his back, hitting the floor hard. So did the bottle of Jack Daniels, spilling its contents all over the floor.

Dean clutched his nose, his eyes teary, gulping in breaths. "What the hell?!" he cried out, staggering to his feet.

Castiel tilted his head to the side, blowing out a surprised huff. "That felt ... _good_." he murmured pensively, before his gaze drifted towards the demon.

"Are you fuckin' kiddin' me?!" Dean staggered back a few more steps until he leaned against the counter, squeezing his nostrils shut so that the blood wouldn't run down all the way and mess up his shirt.

"No. I certainly am not kidding you. - You are a self-righteous bastard, you know that? We CAN'T leave." The angel took a deep inhale and held it before blowing it out. "What has gotten into you?"

Dean stared at the bottle on the floor. "I don't do this whole caring and sharing shit, okay? I can't, Cas."

"You're running away, aren't you? You are running from something that could probably hurt you." The angel shook his head in disbelieve. "You would rather leave Samuel than stay by his side like a real mate would do." His lower lip pulled up, the space between his upper lip and nose narrowing in anger. "You ARE a _coward_."

Dean swallowed hard, still holding his nose. "I'm not _leaving_ him." Now that he thought about it ... he had said those very words just minutes before. He had told Castiel that they should leave. He had told Sam that he was a liability and that he should've taken off before he fell in LOVE with him.

This sounded so bad. So very bad.

"You suggested that very thing one minute and fifty-two seconds ago, Dean." Castiel made a step towards him.

Dean rose his free hand and showed his palm at his friend. "Dude. You gonna punch me again?"

"No. I do not intend to," the angel answered straight away.

There was silence then. Stifling, long silence.

_~*DW & SW*~_

Dean stood outside on the foot of the porch and stared ahead. He had followed Sam's tracks towards the edge of the woods, where he had lost them. The demon had strode through the surrounding woods for god knew how long, but the hunter wasn't to be found – and it was getting dark already. Dark enough, to not even see the first row of woods about fifty yards ahead. Dark enough to get _lost_ ...

He'd been an ass.

He'd been mad. So mad. Mad at himself for not being capable of protecting the one thing that would've saved his lover's life. Mad that Sam didn't seem to care if he'd live or not.

And now he stood here in the damn cold, waiting for him to come back – _if_ he'd come back. He had thought about spreading his wings and flying, trying to find him that way.

But then again – he wouldn't see anything in the dark and he wanted to be here when Sam'd come back, since there wouldn't be anyone else in the house. Castiel had taken off two hours ago, searching for the hunter – and hadn't come back either.

They had come to terms that the angel would look for him and not Dean since it hadn't been Castiel who had been mad at him. Sam wouldn't want to talk to the demon anyway, so he had given in into the angel's suggestion to stay here and wait.

High likely, Cas had found the hunter already – within minutes – and Sam just REFUSED to come back to the house, to DEAN.

There was the flutter of wings in the darkness and Dean tensed for a moment, feeling the unmistakable ruffling of wings beside him.

"You found him?" he asked without turning to his left where Castiel stood.

"He doesn't want to come back right now," the angel answered calmly. "He appeared pretty shaken up." Castiel cleared his throat. "Samuel didn't talk either. You may adjust your appearance to his mood."

Dean scuffed.

"I will leave you then and wait in the living room." Angel-fluttery and he was gone again.

The demon huffed out a breath and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, he saw a dark tall figure with slumped shoulders and his head down coming out from the shadows. A wave of relief washed through him before guilt settled right back in and made his guts twist, stomach drop and throat close up.

His gaze was trained on Samuel Harvelle as he narrowed further, coming closer to him. Sam didn't look up when he walked past Dean.

"Sammy," Dean breathed, tuning after him, as he was walking by and extended his hand in an attempt to hold him back, but decided against it. It wouldn't make his words better or forgotten. If anything it'd make it worse.

"Please ..." he whispered, when he watched the hunter vanish behind the front door.

He gave himself another minute before he followed him inside, nearly falling over a pair of giant boots and a carelessly thrown aside jacket on the ground. Dean wanted to say how sorry he was, how wrong it was to throw those things at Sam, but he couldn't. His vocal cords didn't obey, so he just stood there, watching Sam gathering one of the pillows and the comforter from their lair in the living room.

The hunter didn't stop to look at him, nor bothered to rise his head, when he sauntered past Dean, nudging his shoulder with his despite that there was enough room to just NOT bump into him.

Dean watched him thump up the stairs, seeing the slight limp and sway in the hunter's movements.

It hadn't been fair to take it out on Sam. It hadn't been fair and it hadn't been appropriate. So instead of yelling at him without thinking, without as much as a THOUGHT, he should've sucked it up and left to run his head into some tree.

Castiel walked up beside Dean and laid his hand on the demon's shoulder. "I will keep my ears out. We might need to find another way to cure your mate."

Dean just nodded, chewing on his bottom-lip.

"And you go and fix whatever has to be fixed." Castiel gave him a sympathetic smile before he vanished.

_~*DW & SW*~_

Dean didn't go upstairs. He couldn't. He didn't know how to face Sam, how to say that he was sorry, how to fix this. He racked his brain, trying to come up with a plan.

Besides that: It was cold upstairs. Too cold. And Sam was freezing all the damn time lately. It should be him who'd sleep upstairs instead of the warm living room. It should be him who was supposed to have it not comfortable at all.

So he lay fully dressed on top of the covers on the mattresses and stared at the ceiling, where the light from the fire place was dancing. He stared ahead for a long time, his gaze drifting every now and then towards the radio clock above the fireplace, it's red numbers boring into his eyes each time.

It hadn't been fair. He had practically told Sam that this was his fault. That if it hadn't been for him, Dean wouldn't be here, wouldn't have risked his life and wouldn't have gotten wounded in the process. He had done all of it out of free will. He had done it, because he LOVED Sam, because he meant EVERYTHING to him.

It was two hours and forty-five minutes since Castiel had left.

Two hours and forty-five minutes Sam was upstairs, alone, with only one blanket to cover himself and protect from the cold.

Dean sighed heavily as he sat up and stood up on his feet. He took one of the three blankets, folded it neatly while he glanced longingly at the staircase. He couldn't leave Sam upstairs in the cold. Dean already felt like the worst scum on god's earth and he'd feel much worse if Sam'd catch a cold or become sick because of it. Not to mention that he wanted Sam to talk to him, to hear his voice, no matter if he'd yell at him or call him names. He just NEEDED to know that SOMEHOW he could fix this. Fix what he had damaged.

He braced himself with a deep inhale before he headed upstairs. First he checked on the room which had been Sam's, but it was empty, like he had figured. He ignored the door opposite of Sam's room and the other one beside it, heading straight for the one that had been his and where the mattresses remained on the beds.

_~*DW & SW*~_

Samuel was cold. No scratch that. Cold was an understatement. He was freaking freezing.

He could go downstairs though. It'd be nice and comfortable and WARM. But he didn't. He couldn't. Dean might not have meant what he had said earlier, he suspected, but it didn't make the demon's words less painful and mean.

Sam sniffed and wiped with his trembling hand over his eyes, brushing away hot tears. Of course he cared. Hell, he CARED very much. It was just ... that he hadn't thought of Dean and Castiel failing. He had relied on them, had never thought that something could go wrong or that they wouldn't come back for him. He had figured, that it'd be touch and go as soon as Dean injected him the antidote to kill the spawn. He had thought about the chance to live and go back on the road with the demon.

He had thought and wished for so many things.

And now there was nothing to inject, nothing to save him, nothing to SURVIVE this. He'd die, and that was pretty final.

Sam knew that – he felt it deep down – and maybe that was why he kept calm to wait for a time when he'd be alone to grieve. He just didn't want Dean to see him like that. All shaken up and crying and just ... DONE.

Dean had put so much trust into this whole plan, he had seemed so confident that it'd work ... and then it hadn't, and everything had crumbled into tiny crumbs and left them with something inevitable.

It wasn't fair. Nothing of it was fair.

And the worst part was, that Dean had been yelling at him. That he had told him that he was a liability and that he'd be better off without him. It had sounded so bad and Dean had been mad and angry at him ...

Dean seemed to REGRET being with him. It seemed as if the demon didn't want this anymore – didn't want to be with him. And somehow Sam could understand. It was one thing to fuck an ill guy, but another one to have to watch him die and take care of him when it'd get worse. He understood that.

It just ... HURT.

It hurt so bad.

Another tear rolled down Sam's cheek and soaked the pillow below his head wet. He pulled the comforter up over his neck to hinder the even colder air outside of his cocoon to nag on his sensitive skin.

If he had the possibility right now to grab a gun and put a bullet into his brain, he would. He'd stop all of this right here and now without hesitation. Sam'd take the responsibility away from Dean to take care of him no matter what. He'd make it easier on himself by ending it now instead of in a month or however long it would take the spawn to kill him.

He'd save himself and Dean a whole lot of misery.

_~*DW & SW*~_

The door stood slightly agape and he nudged it further open, though keeping his stance in the doorway. Dean could see the outlines of a bulge in the middle of the bed. The figure's form lay still, but he could tell that Sam wasn't sleeping since there was a faint noise when he was shifting in his cocoon.

"It's cold up here," Dean said calmly, his voice smooth and soft, "Lets go downstairs."

The cocoon didn't move, nor was there any sign that Sam had heard what he said.

"Sammy ... please," he right out PLEADED. "You'll catch a cold or worse."

The hunter felt himself tempted to shoot some snarky remark back, but bit his lower lip. He wouldn't give Dean any more ammo.

"Sam." It took Dean everything to enter the room, since he knew that he wasn't wanted right now. Hell, he'd kick himself out of there right then if he'd been in Sam's place. He had no right to be there, in this room. He had no right to come near Sam in any kind of way – not after what he had called the hunter, what he had said to him.

' _There ain't anything else you're useful for anyway_ ', Dean had said, but Samuel Harvelle's words and the hurt expression on the hunter face, were what echoed through his mind over and over again: _'That ... and letting you fuck me, right?'_

Sam had every right to be pissed. Though Dean had the feeling that he wasn't pissed at all. Sam was hurt. He had HURT him. Maybe not physically, but mentally and that was at least as bad, maybe even worse than that.

Dean blew out a heavy sigh to clear hin mind. "Please ... c'mon downstairs with me. - I'll take the couch. I won't be near you. You don't even have to see me." He knew he was bargaining with Sam and usually he wasn't someone to negotiate. "I ... I just want you to be warm. You can't stay here."

There was a beat of silence and Dean hoped that the hunter would at least consider his suggestion.

"Leave me alone," came a muffled retort.

Dean took another step into the room and towards the bed.

"I'm sorry. - I shouldn't have said the things I did." The demon's eyes grew huge, fixated on the bulge under the covers. "I didn't mean-"

"Go away." Sam's voice shook and there was a wet sound. _... I don't want to hear it._

"You're right to be mad with me." Dean couldn't stop. He couldn't go. He couldn't leave Sam up here on his own. "I acted like a dick. - I didn't think," he continued since Sam seemed to listen. "I ... Sammy ... please. - Can't we talk about it?"

Yes, Dean Winchester wanted to talk. Something that didn't happen very often, except it was dearly necessary. And right the fuck now. He'd lose Sam's trust if he wouldn't explain himself to the hunter. He'd lose HIM. And then he'd lose everything.

Sam didn't move, nor did he answer.

"I love you. I ... I don't know what I was thinking ... It was just ..." He sighed heavily. "... I thought I'd save you. I thought I'd have more time with you. I thought about so many things, Sammy. - And then I wake up after nearly dying and find out that ... that it had been for nothing. That you won't be cured ... That we might not have enough time to come up with something else and you're just standing there. Acting as if you couldn't get Twinkies because the mart two blocks over didn't get it delivered ..." Dean took a breath. "I ... I just didn't know what to do with your behaviour earlier. I didn't know how you could possibly look so relaxed and ... and as if it was okay." He sucked in a deep breath through his nose. "You're not a liability," he added softly, already standing right beside the bed. "I didn't mean to hurt you." He exhaled audibly and closed his eyes for a moment.

The heap of fabric didn't move. Not even shift.

Sam didn't want to talk. He didn't want to listen. He just wanted to be left alone and pitying himself. He didn't need Dean. He didn't need anyone. A part of him just wanted the earth to break open beneath him and swallow him whole.

He didn't want Dean to stay with him because the demon thought that he HAD to.

"Go AWAY, Dean," Sam repeated.

"I won't. It's way too cold up here." Dean rounded the bed, seeing nothing but a mop of hair and long fingers wrapped around the hem of the comforter, holding it over the hunter's face. "I want you to come downstairs with me. Please."

Sam FELT the demon's closeness. He FELT him standing beside the bed, high and mighty – which made Sam feel even more pathetic.

Dean thought for a moment before he laid the blanket he had taken with him on the bed to Sam's feet and reached for the long fingers curled around the comforter. He took them with both hands in his and uncurled them from the fabric. Actually he had thought, that Sam'd protest and pull back from his touch, but he didn't.

He pulled the cover back and was met with a pair of dark hazel-eyes, reflecting the moon's light. Sam's eyes were huge and red and glassy ...

Dean ignored it. "C'mon. Lets get you downstairs and warmed up. I'm gettin' you hot chocolate."

Sam let himself be led into a sitting position. Dean drapped the blanket around Sam's shoulders and took the comforter and pillow with him as they went back into the way warmer living room. The demon stayed a few feet behind Sam though.

Dean arranged the comforter and pillow on the mattresses again and watched Sam settling down there, wrapping himself up in the comforter and blanket again, trying to suppress the chattering of his teeth and the tremors running through his body.

Dean didn't stay. He knew Sam'd wouldn't appreciate it if he'd push, so he went into the kitchen and warmed up milk and chocolate as promised.

Though when he came back, Sam seemed already fast asleep ...

_... to be continued_

* * *

**CHAPTER XXI**

Sam slept through the rest of the night.

Dean made himself comfortable on the couch, staring at the full mug with hot chocolate on the coffee table for a very long time, until he got ripped away from his thoughts by silent moans.

Sam was dreaming – _again_. One of those dreams that would inevitably grow uncomfortable. Only this time, Dean wasn't sure if it was a good idea to crawl up behind Sam and hold him, shush him.

So he let it be. Strained and taut he lay on the couch and listened to the hunter's whimpers and groans until they subsided and he was able to relax again.

Against his better judgement, he fell asleep and got woken by the sounds of rustling fabric and bare feet shuffling over wooden floor.

Dean blinked his eyes open lazily and sat up, his limbs stiff and neck hurting from the awkward angle he had been lying on the couch. His first gaze was dedicated to the mattresses, which were empty.

The fire was still going.

From where he sat, he saw a pair of feet, slipped into boots. Beside the front door stood a duffel bag and back-pack, Sam's jacket thrown over it carelessly.

Dean was awake the very moment.

Sam was getting ready to LEAVE.

To FUCKING leave him.

The demon got to his feet and padded over into the kitchen, where he found Sam sitting at the table and tying his shoelaces, a half-empty mug of coffee beside him on the table.

"You're leaving?" Dean's voice broke as he spoke. He couldn't believe what was happening – that he had messed things up so badly.

"I'm going to visit a friend of mine. I called him this morning, he'll take me in until ..." Sam couldn't finish the sentence.

Dean had to lean onto something or else he'd pass out – at least it felt that way. Suddenly it felt like the ground was ripped away from beneath his feet.

Sam didn't look up. He finished tying the laces and sat up in the chair, reaching for his mug to take a sip of luke-warm coffee.

"I've made coffee anyway. Figured you'd stay a bit longer than me ... and you're always grumpy without it ... so ..." Sam shrugged and emptied his mug. "But ... before I go ... I want you to know that I'm not mad at you at all and that that's not the reason why I'm leaving." Sam looked up, meeting Dean's gaze for the first time this morning. He seemed perfectly calm and confident of what he was doing. There was no hesitation in his movements, or his voice. "You were right, Dean. - It's not fair to you, or Cas. You shouldn't feel compelled to look after me when I'm getting worse. So I decided to go. Besides ... I don't want you to see me like... that."

Dean gulped down a breath. "Sam- No ... You ... I ... Don't. Just don't." His voice shook with emotion. "I told you I didn't mean it. - It was nonsense. I'm sorry. I'm SORRY."

There was a sad smile on Sam's face that never reached his eyes. "I know. And it's okay. It really is. I'm convinced that you could have a nice life without me grounding you somewhere in some abandoned house for ... god knows how long it'll take for me, okay? Even if you didn't mean _everything_ you said... where there's smoke there's fire.."

"Sam. No. I don't want you to leave, okay? I give a shit about what I can do. I know that I want you and I know that I screwed this up, but that doesn't mean that I can't make it up to you. - I WANT to take care of you. I WANT to look out for you. I WANT us to stay together. Cas took off to find ... find something else we could use, okay?" He frowned, his eyes watering.

Dean pushed away from the threshold and made his way in front of Sam, where he kneeled down in between Sam's legs, his hands high on his thighs, squeezing them.

"Please ... I'm begging you. THIS, with you is the only thing I want. I'll ever want. And that's why we won't give up, you hear me? We won't give up. Me and Cas are gonna figure it out. We'll find something to cure you."

Sam cast his look down and away from Dean, the corners of his lips turning down. "What if there's nothing?"

Dean's heart missed a beat at that, his whole chest tightening. "There will be, Sammy." He laid his hand on Sam's cheek and the hunter leaned into the touch instinctively. "And if there's not ... then ..."

"Then you're gonna have to let me go," Sam ended his sentence. "You promise me that, okay?"

Dean nodded. "And you don't leave- Okay? I'll make it up to you. I'll do everything. I didn't mean what I've said. I'd never ..." He huffed out a breath.

Awkward silence followed.

"Untie my shoes?" Sam cocked an eyebrow, his eyes glinting mischievously down at the demon. He laid his big palm over Dean's cheek, covering half of his face.

Dean's eyes lit up and he huffed out a laugh. "No way, princess. Untie your laces yourself."

_~*DW & SW*~_

It wasn't like everything was warm and cozy again between them. Dean could still see doubt and hurt in the hunter's eyes when Sam looked at him and didn't notice that Dean was noticing. It was like the hunter was weighing how much of what he had said had been true and what had been said out of emotion.

And that was about a week after the incident.

Sam didn't trust him. As if Sam was waiting for the other shoe to drop and Dean yelling at him all over again. His words had caused more damage than he thought he could fix with the little gestures he dared to offer the hunter.

_~*DW & SW*~_

They were sitting in the kitchen, eating their dinner, when Dean leaned back in his chair and watched Sam for a moment poking with his spoon in a bowl of soup.

He then cleared his throat to gain the hunter's attention. When Sam looked up at him, Dean leaned forward a bit and folded his hands before him on the table.

"Look ... I've been thinking ... I should help Cas look for a cure," he started tentatively. "It's not necessary for the both of us to be stuck here in the house – not as long as ... you know ... We could drive to that friend of yours and ... you could stay there while me and Cas are trying to figure something out ..." He had thought about it, but wasn't sure how Sam would take that suggestion, not after it had grown a bit cool between the two of them.

Sam let the spoon sink into the bowl and leaned back, eying Dean closely, with a look that said _you're-gonna-drop-me-off-there-and-just-leave_ with a side of hurt and a sprinkle of disappointment.

"Look. It's not what you think, okay? I don't want to drop you off there and don't look back, okay? - It's just ..." He sighed deeply. "I can't just sit around and ... and do nothing to even try and save you. I CAN'T."

Sam nodded. He only nodded. "I'll call Bobby then." That was it. That was what he had been waiting for – for the other shoe to drop. It had been a whole lot of tiptoeing around each other the past eight days ... He knew it wouldn't last. Dean'd go ...

"Sam," Dean said as he watched the hunter rise slowly from the seat and turn around. "I'm more useful out there."

Sam flinched, his features tightened. "And I'm not useful at all. Right?" He looked back over his shoulder.

"You know that's not what I mean, so stop it. Don't you dare and turn what I'm sayin'. That's not fair." Dean rose from his seat too and glared at the younger man.

"Well ... then ... then you better ..." Sam gripped his chest, releasing a shuddering breath as a familiar ache set in and a sharp stab followed as if someone was driving a damn knife through him."You ..." He gasped, bracing himself against the door frame with his free hand and bowed forward as if it was lessening the pull.

"Sammy?" Dean's voice was a breath, dripping with concern. He was by the hunter's side in a split second, arms wrapping around the younger man to stop him from toppling over. "Shit ... you gotta sit down, baby - Living-room. Couch."

But the demon's words were lost somewhere between Sam's ears and his brain. The world around him started to spin and his ribcage tightened, making it impossible to breathe.

Dean tightened his grip on Sam and went to his front, gripping him just in the right moment under his armpits as he saw the younger man's eyes roll back into his skull and his legs give out under him.

The demon caught his weight and grunted as he pulled him against his chest, before sinking down onto the floor with him. Dean brushed dark bangs of hair out of the younger man's face and felt for his pulse. It was irregular and weak, though he was still breathing.

"Sammy," Dean whispered, feeling the younger man's skin starting to get clammy and ashen. "Don't you dare. Not like that." He lowered him to the ground completely, Sam's head lolled to the side, his eyes closed. "Not like that. Please not like that," he muttered.

Sam remained unconscious, so his lover brought him into the living room and lowered him onto the mattresses where he arranged everything to his favor. He stayed at his side, checking on his pulse and breathing every couple of minutes.

It had been a stupid idea. He knew it now – and maybe should've figured it out earlier. Sam didn't want him to leave.

Dean shouldn't leave.

What if Sam died with the next fit the spawn caused? What if the next attack was his last one and Dean hadn't been there? He'd miss it and he'd never forgive himself for it. So no, he shouldn't leave Sam. He was supposed to stay with him and be his partner in this.

_~*DW & SW*~_

Dean nestled closer, despite the fact that they hadn't cuddled ever since Dean had said the worst things to him. Sam had seemed uncomfortable each time they lay side by side on their sleeping-place. He had this look on his face every time he'd touch Sam ... and it hurt so bad ... _so bad._

He pulled Sam up against his chest, cradling the back of his head in his hand.

Dean felt him shifting for the first time in four hours. It wasn't much, only his arm sliding lower over Dean's side, followed by a twitch of muscles.

"There you go, Sunshine," Dean whispered hoarsely, loosening his grip on Sam's head a bit.

Sam groaned and screwed his eyes shut, as he came aware of the muffled pounding in his skull and the bouncing ache in his chest. He felt sore and exhausted. His limbs heavy, his head felt like dead weight to his neck.

"Sammy," Dean whispered gently, stroking his hair.

The hunter gasped, leaning his forehead against Dean's chest. It hurt. It truly hurt. Not the usual aftereffects he felt after those attacks, the faint ache and pull. This was pain. Stabbing pain lancing through his chest with every inhale he took.

Sam whimpered pathetically.

"It's okay, it's gonna be okay," Dean soothed, continuing to stroke Sam's hair. "Breathe through it, baby. Try to breathe through it."

The hunter sucked in a wheezing breath, his fingers fisting Dean's shirt violently. "D'n ..."

"Still hurts?" Dean asked with a concerned frown. It wasn't supposed to still hurt.

Sam nodded into his chest.

"We could try painkillers – morphine even," he whispered. "But you first gotta drink and eat a bit."

The hunter was panting against his chest. "Tylenol? Paracetamol?"

"Sure thing. Let's try the easier ones first." Though, Dean doubted that those would work. If any of them – even the morphine – would work and the hunter had to know that too.

Dean eased his arm out under Sam's and pried his hands off. He then took the medical kit from under the sink and got the Paracetamol and water from the fridge. When he returned, Sam was sitting halfway upright, clutching his chest.

An hour after Sam had eaten a few bites of a sandwich and drunk a glass of water including a double dose of Paracetamol he didn't feel any better. So Dean got him the real good drugs and half an hour later, Sam's breathing was visibly calmer and he wasn't clutching his chest anymore. Though he still refused to lay down and sat criss-cross on the mattress, his head bowed and his shoulders slumped forward.

Dean sat in front of him, his legs crossed too, one of his hands resting on Sam's knee for comfort.

"I won't leave, okay?" he mumbled. "I'll stay with you."

The ghost of a smile hushed over Sam's face. "I'm sorry though. - I ... I just don't want to die, Dean." Now he looked up, meeting concerned green eyes. "I really don't. But I feel like I'm going to die and I know it. I feel like ... like my body betrays me each day more." He sniffed, his voice shaking. "I know I was mean ... I know it and I'm sorry. I know you didn't mean what you said earlier."

"I know ..." The demon blew out a breath. "I'm sorry too ..." Dean got to his knees and sat on his butt, spreading his legs and arms. Sam crawled in between them and curled up, tugging his head into the crook of the older man's neck.

_~*DW & SW*~_

Things got worse ... much worse. Sam slept most of the day and needed the morphine at least two times within twenty-four hours. He was barely eating and drinking anymore.

Dean spent most of the days at Sam's side, bringing him to the toilet or giving him sponge baths, made him eat and drink and combed his hair. His ridiculously long girly silken hair.

Whenever he found time, he'd waltz through ancient books he had already checked before and hoped he'd find something he had missed.

Castiel visited a couple of times, just to tell them that the leads he had been following were dead ends.

Dean was antsy. A part of him wanted to be out there, on the road looking for a cure.

_~*DW & SW*~_

Dean was sitting at the kitchen-table, his nose buried in some dusty book, seemingly not noticing a sleep-drunk Samuel Harvelle entering on wobbly knees.

The hunter ruffled his hair and yawned as he patted into the kitchen and towards the fridge.

"Hey, babe," Dean muttered, when Sam passed him and brushed with his hand over the studying older man at the table.

Sam groaned. "You didn't wake me," he complained hoarsely as he wrenched the fridge open and took out the bottle of milk.

"You seemed comfortable. Figured you'd need your rest, baby boy," Dean replied without looking up.

Sam grumbled something under his breath and walked back towards the table on the opposite side of Dean and sat down. He unscrewed the bottle and took a sniff before taking a few sips.

Dean dared to look up and watch his lover gulping down another couple of swallows. It wasn't like he had Sam seen drinking or even eating without being prompted to do so. It made him feel a bit better and warmer around his heart. It made things not look as bad as they were at the moment.

Dean snapped the book shut and leaned back. "Made wedges for dinner. - What'd you think?"

Sam's lips curled up into a smile and he blinked at Dean. "Awesome." Though the thought of eating made his stomach churn and rebel, threatening to heave all the milk back up.

"Good." Dean smirked at him. "And then I thought we could crash in front of the TV? There's gonna be this new show about two bothers, fighting evil ..."

Sam chuckled and cocked an eyebrow at him. "Really? Ain't that too familiar for someone like us?"

Dean wiggled with his eyebrows. "Figured you'd like. Heard they're handsome."

"You're all the handsomeness I can handle, Dean Winchester." Sam wiggled his eyebrows back at him and grinned broadly.

They hadn't done anything below the waistband the past two weeks or so. Dean hadn't dared to touch him THERE and possibly trigger another fit, or attack, or seizure or however to call those episodes. Even when Sam had made attempts to become more intimate with the demon a couple of times, Dean had refused.

The demon chuckled and his cheeks tainted a slight shade of red.

"You're blushing," Sam's voice dropped an octave.

Dean's cheeks reddened a bit more as he cast his look down shyly. "Potato Wedges it is," he said and rose.

They ate in comfortable silence and went over into the living room onto the couch. Dean demanded to watch this new show on the CW. Sam couldn't care less. He had everything he wanted right here. His lover beside him, snuggled into his lap and a cozy blanket spread over his body to keep him warm.

The end credits ran down the screen, when Sam shifted, looking up at the older man and taking in the flashes of light crossing his features.

"You know ..." Sam spoke up, an expression of awe and longing on his face, "... I wish I could feel the grass under my feet once more. Could bury my toes in it and see the colors of spring when the trees start to bloom." He bit his lower lip, locking his gaze with Dean's when he looked down. "I'd like to see all that with you ..."

Dean wore a sad smile on his lips as he blinked down at Sam. "You will." His voice was hoarse from emotions he didn't dare to name, close to breaking on those syllables. "You're gonna get your spring and you're gonna feel the grass, Sammy." Dean covered Sam's cheek with his hand. "I promise." He drew his thumb along the younger man's cheekbone ever so gently.

"I ... I don't think that we'll have enough time," the hunter said softly.

"We don't know that, Sam," he whispered back. "We CAN'T know that."

Sam gave him his best _but-I-do-know-look_.

There were a hand-full beats of silence.

"You've never told me how you got your wings ..." Sam needed to change the topic before he'd start to cry like a baby. He sniffed and trained his gaze back at the TV.

"No, I didn't." Dean followed the hunter's example and looked at the screen, not even knowing what was on. "But ... you gotta know the whole thing, okay?"

Sam nodded.

"There's not a lot to tell anyway, baby boy." He smiled a bit now. "I sold my soul to a crossroads demon when I was _nine_." Dean huffed out a breath, as if he was still not able to process what he had done back then. "I didn't even know what I was doing. I had this old book of my grandfather with all that crazy occult shit and ... and my dad wasn't exactly the nicest guy on earth ... and all that I wanted was to stop it, you know?" Dean shook his head, his facial expression turning grim. "I wanted to stop him from hurting my step-mom. - She was too nice for him anyway ... so ... When I found this book I thought: _What the hell?_ Ten years are enough if it'd be without John ... and ... I took off from home, was gone for three whole days ... Me and my Batman back-pack." He chuckled darkly. "I made a deal the same night I'd taken off, but just ... I couldn't go home right then. I didn't want to see the police arresting my dad. And ..." He sighed and rubbed over his eyes. "... When I came home, the house was locked. The police had sealed the doors reading that this was a crime scene ... Old lady Bronson saw me and came. She took me in and called the police." His voice broke. "Long story short: I made the deal for nothing. An hour before I made it to the crossroads and sealed the deal with a red-eyes, my dad had already beaten my stepmother to death. Neighbors called the police ... My dad died that night with a bullet through his heart. I was too late." There was a long pause.

Sam kept silent and kept watching his lover with an utterly sad expression on his face.

Dean sighed. "I came into a foster home and looked for the first opportunity to get out and summon that creepy bitch again. She just said that a deal is a deal. Nineteen hellhounds dragged me to hell. And Cas got me out of there again. WHY I do own wings is a miracle to both sides. Cas thinks that it's got something to do with his grace and ... and the fact that I sold my soul out of some selfless situation. But I didn't. It was me who wanted him gone. Sarah may have been my stepmother, but she was everything to me, while my dad tried to hunt the demon down who killed my real one. I couldn't watch him continue to hurt her."

Sam reached up, spreading his bony fingers over Dean's side of the head, feeling wetness against his palm. He shushed him, biting the insides of his lower lip. Sam struggled to get in an upright position and crawled over Dean, straddling his lap. He cupped the older man's face in his hands and tilted his head back.

"You were mighty brave for a nine-year-old, Dean." He smiled warmly down at him, tracing the seam of Dean's lip with one of his fingers. "And Crossroads demons are dicks. You couldn't know that back then. You couldn't know anything." Brown bangs of hair slid into Sam's face as he tilted his head down and ghosted with his lips over Dean's.

Dean choked out a sob, kissing him back tenderly and wrapped his arms around the other man's torso. He felt his lover's ribs through the three layers of fabric, the sharpness of bones digging into his flesh when Sam pressed up and down against him.

"I don't want you to die too, baby." Dean buried his face in Sam's chest, tears running down and soaking through Sam's shirt, as he tightened his hold around him. "I can't. I can't. You can't die. You can't leave me, Sammy."

Sam shushed his lover again, holding the back of his head gently. "This way or another ... it's going to be okay. You'll see." He smiled a bit. "We'll make the best out of it, okay? We'll stick together, make each other feel good."

They stayed like that for a very long time, holding onto each other.

_... to be continued_

* * *

**CHAPTER XXII**

Sam became worse within days. He wasn't able to get up from bed anymore, was too weak to drink and eat on his own. He was hurting all the time, whimpering whenever Dean touched him, moved him and then again it was the closeness to his lover he was seeking desperately those days.

There wasn't a single inch of his skin which wasn't burning, not a single inch which didn't feel too tight and at the same time itchy and loose.

Besides the rapidly worsening state Sam was in, they hadn't found anything to destroy the devilish spawn. Castiel had been there just a few hours before dawn and came with empty hands and no information about new leads. Dean had given up reading through old books, since he couldn't find anything new. It was a lost game as they were running out of time.

One way or another it was coming to an end and Dean didn't handle it too well because deep down he knew, that Sam might have only a couple more days.

It tore Dean's insides apart and shattered his heart to see the hunter suffering without being able to ease his discomfort and aches despite pumping him full with morphine which made him sleepy and barely coherent.

Sam looked like death warmed over. All pale and ashen skin, damp and glassy eyes, weakness in his limbs and dependence on Dean in every aspect of his life.

Clarity flooded Dean's mind with every passing hour, that Sam was going to die. That they couldn't stop it anymore, no matter what they tried. He had thought about taking him to the hospital, letting them hook Sam up on machines and IVs to keep him alive as long as possible.

But he knew what Sam'd say if he would suggest it – besides, it was questionable if he'd survive the drive there anyway. The both of them knew that.

So Dean decided to be there for Sam whatever he'd need, accepting the inevitable even when it hurt.

_~*DW & SW*~_

"Sammy ...", Dean soothed him, brushing a lock of damp hair out of his face.

He whimpered.

"I need you to drink something for me, baby," he said gently, helping him to sit up and set the glass with milk to his lips. Milk – the only thing he seemed to be able to hold down since yesterday noon.

Sam did as he was told and took a couple of sips. "That's good, baby, you're doing so good," he whispered. "So good, Sammy. I'm proud of you. I'm so proud." Dean knew he was babbling, but he couldn't help it.

The low hum of his voice seemed to sooth the death-sick hunter and ease some of the fear every now and then when his breaths became more labored occasionally.

He took the glass away from Sam's lips and put it aside, letting the hunter catch his breath.

"D'n," Sam tangled his fingers into the fabric of the demon's shirt weakly. He looked up at him with glassy eyes, a pleading expression on his face.

"I know, I know," Dean shushed him. "I'm gettin' there."

Sam gave him a jerky nod and let his eyes flutter shut, leaning into the demon's grasp, who settled him down onto the mattress and a pile of pillows under his head and back. Dean then reached for for a filled syringe from beside the mattress and injected it into a vein in Sam's lower arm.

"It'll get better, baby. – It'll get better real soon," Dean whispered softly. "Just relax, okay?"

Sam tugged weakly at the hem of dean's shirt.

He didn't need to ask anyway. Dean already knew what Sam wanted. What he needed.

"Yeah, I'm stayin' with you. Don't you worry, I'm right here." He put the syringe aside and stretched out beside Sam facing him. "Right here, baby boy." Dean laid his hand on Sam's stomach above the blanket and snuggled close.

Sam made a soft noise in the back of his throat, his fingers still tangled in his lover's shirt. "Don' go," he murmured.

There were short pauses up to thirty seconds - in the younger man's breathing since a couple of hours. Dean couldn't help but count the seconds in between wheezing breaths, checking if they became longer.

"I'll stay here," Dean whispered into Sam's ear and tugged the aching man closer, slipping with his hand under the covers, his flat palm fluttering over Sam's ribcage and flat stomach.

Sam's eyelids fluttered open lazily, his gaze already dazed from the drugs and exhaustion. "I'm gonna see mom again," he murmured, his voice slurred and soft.

Dean swallowed hard, trying desperately to hold back tears as he buried his face in Sam's hair and took a deep calming inhale.

"Yeah. She's waitin' for you, baby boy." He didn't know what else to say about that. "All the people you love are going to be there."

Sam's expression darkened. "You won't."

Dean tugged him closer. "No. I won't. But you'll be waiting for me until my time's up." _... it'd be pretty soon anyways._ He couldn't imagine carrying on without Sam by his side. He just _couldn't_ ... He'd find a way to follow him. No matter how. No matter when. He'd come for Sam and maybe there was a god. A righteous god, who'd grant him to enter heaven though he hadn't the cleanest of souls, and despite the fact that he was neither human nor demon, nor angel.

Sam nudged him weakly. "Don' be stupid, asshole," he snapped. "Don' say that."

Dean gazed outside the window. The weather report had promised a sunny, though cold day for this area and he desperately hoped that it was true.

Sam struggled to lie on his side and finally managed it with a bit of help, to face Dean and tugged his head under the demon's neck, breathing him in. The warm exhales of Sam's mouth warmed the narrow space between them, as he snuggled closer and nestled into his boyfriend.

Dean shifted a bit and held Sam close feeling his muscles relax more and more under the morphine's effects on him. Though it also labored the hunter's breathing and heartbeat dangerously.

"When you wake up, baby, it's gonna be a warm day in spring. There'll be grass and flowers and me. We're going to lie there, watching blue skies and white clouds will be passing above us. I'll be holding you and tell you that I love you and that there'll be nothing else but the both of us – forever." His lips were so close to Sam's ear, nearly brushing his earlobe as he continued to whisper into the man's ear. "You'll get your day in spring, Sammy."

Sam drifted off into a slumber soon after, the drugs dragging him down into a land of confusing dreams. Dean kept his arms around him, monitoring his breaths and heart rate, kissing the top of his lover's head every now and then while he thought.

_~*DW & SW*~_

The weather-report hadn't lied.

The sun was out, though there was a thick layer of fog hovering head-high above the ground.

Dean smiled a soft smile as he brushed over Sam's hair and shifted him on his back. The breaks in Sam's breathing had grown longer again. Sometimes he wouldn't take an inhale for over a whole minute now.

Dean could tell he was close – too close. After all, he had a promise to keep.

"Sammy," Dean whispered, laying his hand on Sam's cool cheek. "Time to wake up, baby boy."

The younger man moaned and his forehead furrowed.

"C'mon. Open your pretty eyes for me." Dean still smiled though the circumstances. He knew what he had to do to make this perfect. "I've got something for you."

Sam mumbled something incoherent, though his eyes opened to small slits, peeking out under long dark lashes.

"That's it." Dean slipped with his arm out from under Sam's head and propped up on an elbow. "I need to dress you real warm for it, okay?"

Sam gave him a shaky and weak nod. He trusted Dean and didn't even try to argue or ask why he had to pack him up in something _real warm._

"Thought I'd just wrap you up in a blanket since you're already wearing a butt-load of layers, huh?" Dean smiled down on him, tracing with his fingertips over Sam's stubbled jaw.

Sam smiled back at him weakly and nodded again. Then he opened his mouth, forming words with his lips. _Something nice?_

"Yeah, Sammy. Something real nice." Dean blinked away tears and brought the sentence out before his voice could eventually break.

Sam trusted him.

Dean pulled the blanket and comforter off of Sam and sat him up, letting him lean against him. He then wrapped the warmest blanket he could find around the younger man's shoulders and wrapped him up in it like in a cocoon.

He then eased Sam back onto the mattresses and went to open the front-door, just to be seconds later at his side again and scoop him up on his arms bridal-style. It wasn't like his lover was weighing that much anymore anyway.

Sam settled his head into the crook of Dean's shoulder, no chance to try and hold onto him since his arms were captured beneath the soft woolen fabric.

Their breaths evaporated and rose in small white clouds of mist as they stepped onto the porch. Dean stopped for a moment and shifted the cocoon in his grasp before he lurked down.

"You okay, baby?" he asked softly.

Sam nodded against his neck with closed eyes, drawing in a rattling breath.

"Fine. It's not long now," Dean shushed him as he felt the younger man's forehead crease against his skin. "You'll like it."

Dean stepped from the porch and onto the frozen stairs. Immediately the white snow started to melt around his boots and the effect spread slowly around him of one yard to either side and to the front and back of him, drawing a nearly perfect circle.

As he stepped down from the steps, the snow within the circle started to melt away rapidly and the first signs of green sprouts bore through the dead grass and brown ground. The air surrounding them grew warmer and as Dean started to walk, the back of his shirt made a tent and ripped apart, the first peaks of dark feathers appearing.

As he walked, the most precious treasure resting in his arms, the snow melted and the sprouts grew faster with every step he took. Though, a yard behind him, the rapidly growing grass and flowers withered, turning their heads towards the ground and grew brown and ashen and died. As seemed the ground.

Dean made his way through the woods with his precious cargo. Trees and bushes sprouting and the flowers of spring raising their heads towards the sun.

Though not for long, since they were withering and dying the very moment they had blossomed. Dean's wings were rustling as they stroke against trees and bushes and the under-growth of the wood. He could already see the clearing from where they were now, covered in snow, the earth beneath it still asleep in the claws of winter.

A tear rolled down the demon's cheek as he blinked, shifting the prone body in his arms again for more leverage.

When they stepped out into the clearing and the sun met Dean's bare skin on his face, neck and hands, it was like he was gleaming, his eyes no longer the green of the forests. They carried something much deeper, something more ancient inside of them. Sparks of a hundred lives and a thousand hopes.

They finally reached the center of the clearing and Dean stopped in his tracks, looking ahead into nothingness as the circle of growing plants, grass and flowers grew towards the edge of the clearing. The ground beneath them grew warmer and it truly felt a bit like spring in the bare sun.

Dean kneeled down with the human in his arms and sat him into the juicy looking green grass, holding him in an upright position with his arm.

"Sammy," he whispered, spreading his wings wide.

Hazel-green circles appeared behind lazily fluttering lashes. Sam drew in a deep breath of warm air, smelling dandelions, violets and daisies and _Dean_. Instantly his lips curled up into a soft smile, his eyes lighting up in a way the demon had missed for so long.

 _Spring_ – Sam mouthed, dimples blooming all over his face as his gaze focused on a pair of deep green eyes above him. _Spring_ – he repeated.

"Yeah, Sammy. Spring," Another tear ran down Dean's cheeks.

 _Don't cry,_ Sam's lips moved again, _beautiful_.

Dean stroke Sam's face tenderly, caressing his pale skin with his fingertips. "It's ours." Dean blinked freshly springing tears away. "Ours only."

Dean tugged him close, bowing down over him and brushed his lips against Sam's. "I love you," he mouthed.

Sam mouthed _I love you_ back, _so much_.

The gleam of Dean's skin increased, as Sam's breaths morphed into short gasps. He wouldn't let Sam go on his own – not where he couldn't reach him. If they'd go, they'd go together.

Sam's eyelids slid shut, no longer able to hold them open, but the smile on his lips stayed.

"It won't hurt, promise," Dean whispered against the hunter's dry lips, as he closed his eyes to hide the growing blackness in them. "It's going to be over before you even notice, baby."

Dean choked back a sob as tears ran down his face freely, dropping down and soaking into the blanket.

The trees at the seam of the clearing blossomed in white and rose, as the gleam radiating from Dean morphed into something more intense.

Dean's wings closed around Sam as if to shield him, as they found themselves in the center of an intensive bluish-white light. It enveloped them completely by the time the trees started to spread their leaves.

Dean held onto the human in his arms, squeezing his eyes shut.

_~*DW & SW*~_

Sam felt like he was floating somewhere in a warm place with all the smells of his past and the ones of the present. He felt arms around him, holding him and the warmth of those arms growing hot, close to burning his flesh. He felt the heat soak into his body and crawl towards his chest and into his very heart.

Cool drops of liquid fell onto the hot skin of his face and his heart sped up, hammering against the invisible cage the spawn had created around it and dared to squeeze it to mush. The heat developed and what had felt comfortable at first grew now more irritating and hurtful, as the heat morphed into a firy burn.

_~*DW & SW*~_

It looked like an explosion of lights and pure energy, causing sparkling dust like snowflakes to rain down in a one mile radius around the clearing. Each inch of ground touched by those fairy-dust-like flakes, set off seeds to sprout and trees to let their leaves grow.

Dandelions were turning into puffy white balls all over the clearing, in their middle two figures, one hunched over the other, with dark wings curled around the other one.

Dean gasped, tightening his hold on the prone body in his arms, weeping in grief and exhaustion.

There was a feather-light touch against his lips.

The demon squeezed his eyes shut, cradling Sam against his chest. There was another ghost of contact against his skin and a warm breath against his neck.

" _Dean_ ," crept a tender voice into his ear, raising him from the abyss of his clouded mind.

His teary eyes fluttered open, wet and red and blurry.

A pair of sparkling hazel-green eyes looked up at him in wonder.

"Sammy?" he asked, not quite understanding how it was even possible.

The hunter was supposed to be dead. He had _killed_ him. He had taken away his pain and misery and ... Sam was _supposed_ to be dead. DEAD.

The hunter smiled, his eyes glassy and tired but so much alive.

"Take a deep breath for me, baby," Dean demanded hoarsely, his hand finding Sam's face and cupping his cheek.

Sam obeyed. He drew in a deep inhale of warm air, his ribcage expanded fully without feeling any tightness or ache. His eyes fluttered shut at the tingly sensation which spread through his whole body.

Dean's fingers ghosted to Sam's neck, feeling his pulse strongly against his tips.

Dean huffed out a laugh, not able to believe his luck. He rocked Sam in his arms, cradling him close, laughs and chuckles falling from his lips in amazement and happiness.

Sam buried his face in his lover's chest, inhaling him and feeling his own chest rise and fall and his heart hammering strong and mercilessly in his chest.

Dean loosened his grip on him and shifted Sam in his arms, so that he could look him in the face. Their looks connected over the short distance and Dean tilted his head down to meet Sam's rose lips in a gentle kiss.

They stayed on the clearing for a very long time. Sam lay wrapped up in Dean's arms as they watched white clouds wandering the deep blue sky above them.

**~ The End ~**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a bonus-chapter for those who can't stand this ending ...   
> BUT IF YOU ASK ME, this bonus-chapter doesn't even exists. I've never written it.


	7. BONUS CHAPTER - I dearly suggest you do not read this. ;)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BONUS CHAPTER

Well ... so ... what do you think, guys?

Do I deserve BACON & Peanutbutter-Cups?

Once again I have to say THANK YOU to _GOTHPANDAOTAKU_ for her amazing work of betaing

my story & making it flow easier.

THANK YOU to those who reviewed, favorited & yet followed another story of mine :)

  
  


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_Because I had a handfull of requests for another chapter, I wrote one._

_I think that it may destroy the magic of Chapter 22 ... But I did it nonetheless. I figured that everyone could figure it out and think what they wanted to think._

_So ... If you prefer to think what you want to think, for hell's sake, don't go on reading. Because the bonus chapter may destroy what you thought it might be._

_If not – please – go on._

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**The Stars Will Guide Me Home**

**Bonus-Chapter**

Dean cradled the hunter in his arms, holding him close, feeling the warmth of his exhales against the skin of his bare neck. He held him close. So close. Shielding him with his wings. Hot tears streaming down his face and dropping down, staining Sam's cool, rosy cheeks.

"So beautiful," Sam breathed, his head nestling into the demon's chest, his hands tangled in the fabric of Dean's shirt.

They didn't know how long they stayed there, before the air around them started to cool down again and started to creep into their flesh and bones.

Around them bands of fog settled over the green grass and turned into white frost all over the clearing.

Sam's exhale turned into white mist as it rose towards the blue skies above them. A shiver coursed through him as the cool air tickled his exposed skin. Another shiver erupted from deep within him, when Dean's warm palm covered his cheek, holding his head close. Holding onto him, as if the hunter could get torn away from him by some unseen higher power.

"I think we should go back," Dean murmured against the hazelnut-brown mop of hair. "You're gettin' cold."

Sam snuggled closer, shifting in his tight cocoon of the woolen fabric. He didn't want to move. He didn't want to go back. He wanted to stay. Right there. With Dean. For eternity. "Don' want to," he muttered into Dean's shirt. "Stay."

The ghost of a smile brushed Dean's features. "It's growing cold, baby boy," he said softly, nuzzling into his silken hair. "I don't want you to get sick." ... I don't want you to get sick ever again."

Sam hummed low, breathing in deeply and nodded.

"Good." Dean's smile widened slightly. "You good?"

"Comfortable," his lover breathed.

He placed a tender kiss to Sam's temple, his wings opening slowly, letting in the sun's light and more of the chilly air. "Get your hands back under the blanket," he whispered.

Sam wiggled them back into the cocoon and Dean tugged the blanket up, so that only his lover's head was peeking out. He then shifted a bit and snuck his arms back under Sam's knees and around his back, before he rose.

The hunter leaned his head heavily against Dean's shoulder, burying his face into the soft fabric, so that the cool wind wouldn't blow right into his face.

Ever so slowly they made their way back across the clearing and through the woods. All the while, Dean's wings would fold and slowly begin to vanish to where they had come from. When they arrived at the porch of the house, the wings were completely gone and the only witness of what had transpired was the demon's torn shirt.

Once inside, Dean nudged the door closed and moved into the living room, where he settled Sam back down on the mattresses.

Huge hazel-green eyes looked up at him in wonder, when he hovered over him. There was a gentle smile playing over Sam's lips as he took in the vividly shining emerald-green circles of his partner and soft freckles.

"So ..." Dean spoke up after a amount comfortable of silence, "What'd you wanna do, Sunshine?"

The smile grew on Sam's face, and illuminated his eyes so brightly, it was blinding. "I'd love to have hot chocolate. And then ... then I want you tell me what happened and ... and then ... " His cheeks tainted a slight red. "... then I'd like you to make love to me." Sam blinked his long lashes at the other man.

Dean's grin morphed into a smirk. "That what you want?" He huffed out a breath. "Hot chocolate ... That I understand ... But ... An hour ago you were about to die and now you're thinkin' 'bout sex?"

Sam shook his head. That wasn't what he meant. Not totally at least. "No. - I want you to make love to me," he repeated. "And I want you to tell me what you did ... how you ... how you saved me – before you make love to me. That's what I want."

"Sammy ..." Dean wasn't quite sure how that should work. Sure, the hunter was alive. ALIVE. But that didn't mean that he'd be capable of doing workouts ... or even having sex anytime soon. He may be alive, but he also was starved. Dehydrated. Weak. That wouldn't go away within hours or days, or something a proper nights rest would fix.

"Dean," Sam stopped him, wiggling one of his hands out of the tight cocoon and laying his pointing-finger over the demon's lips. "That's what I want."

Dean blushed, casting his gaze aside shyly. Sam could tell what he want. What he liked to have. He was capable of doing so because he was alive. He survived. In the end he'd been able to save his lover from the spawn of hell ... even if he wasn't sure how exactly that had worked. After all Sam was supposed to be dead. To not survive Dean's outburst. - hell, Not even Dean had been supposed to survive this. Not because he'd explode or something. Simply because he had put his whole power into it. Every single ounce he had. And yet he was alive.

Sure, he felt kind of exhausted, but not as bad as he had thought it should've been.

"Okay." Dean bowed down over Sam's face and brushed with his lips over his. "First hot chocolate. - And Cheese Balls maybe?" He grinned.

Sam chuckled weakly. "Yeah ... that'd be great," he murmured.

Dean then left his side and went into the kitchen to warm up some milk and stuck one of those chocolate-spoons into it as soon as it was hot enough. He stirred it criss cross through the mug until the chocolate had dissolved completely and poured the sweet liquid into two mugs.

Then he grabbed a bag with those cheese-balls from the cupboard above the sink and went back into the living room. On his way there he thought that those cheese-balls weren't a very good idea.

Sam hadn't eaten solid food in quite some time ... and now something so sweet like hot chocolate and sour as the greasy cheese-balls ...

Sam had sat up and was leaning against the back of the couch, the blanket slung around his shoulders and another one drapped over his lap. When Dean came in he looked up.

Sure, Sam looked horrible. Pale. Dark circles under his eyes. The bones on his face standing out sharply. Dean was good at acting. So very good. He overplayed the fear and worry he still felt deep down when he looked at his lover and sat down beside him with a smile on his face.

Though, Sam could read him like no one else. He knew. He always knew. And he decided to ignore it and not call Dean on it – because it'd be of no use. He'd worry even more – specially when Sam would tell him not to worry.

Sam reached for one of the mugs and took it out of Dean's hand. He sipped carefully at it and breathed the steaming scent of milk and chocolate in. The hunter's eyes fluttered closed, as the rich flavor of it caressed his tongue and when he swallowed it down, warming in from deep within.

Dean ripped the bag with the cheese-balls open and put it between the both of them.

They ate ... and drank ... slowly.

To Dean's surprise, Sam had been right. Hot chocolate and cheese-balls somehow fitted just perfectly. The sweet of the chocolate and the greasy salty cheesy flavor of the balls as they melted in his warmed up mouth.

"I don't know how I made it work that way," Dean spoke up. "It just happened. - It's the first time I did anything like that. I wasn't planning on us surviving this."

Sam nodded, stealing a glance at Dean. "Figured." He gave him a soft smile. "Glad it didn't go down the way you wanted it." His smile morphed into a grin. "I'd hate for the both of us to be dead."

Dean huffed out a breath. "Sammy ..."

"No, really. - We may not even have ended up together, you know? ... I'd rather end up where you would've ended up. No matter where."

Dean knew what Sam was talking about. Since Dean wasn't quite human, nor angel, nor demon, where would he belong when he'd die? Neither in heaven nor hell high likely. And purgatory? Well, maybe. So Sam'd prefer to end up in purgatory with him, fighting for his eternal soul before having a quite comfortable after-life in heaven ...

"I wouldn't leave you alone," Sam murmured, as he leaned over and rested his heavy head against Dean's shoulder. His voice small and sleepy as if he'd be drifting off any moment now.

The demon smiled, sneaking his arm around Sam's back from behind and nudging him close. "You don't know what you're talkin', baby," he murmured low – huskily – against his forehead. "You wouldn't want to end up THERE."

Sam shifted again, inching closer. "I would. If you're there, I would." His voice barely audible by now. The empty mug held by his hand loosely on the verge of slipping out of his grasp.

Dean eased the mug out of Sam's hand and put it aside along his own. He then shifted and wiggled until he was seated behind Sam, his back resting against the couch with the younger man in between his spread legs.

"Don't let me fall asleep." Sam's voice was barely there anymore. The hunter's eyes blinked lazily.

"Sure." Dean tugged the blanket up over Sam's shoulders and straigthened the one that was sprawled over his legs.

"Want you to make love to me." It was caried away on the breath, faiding into nothingness, but Dean understood him anyway. And he smiled. A soft, loving smile. Knowing that there wouldn't be such a thing anytime soon. That Sam'd have to heal and get stronger with time before he'd dare to even think about molesting his precious treasure again.

**~ The Final End ~**

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